Last week, a Yemenia Airbus crashed, claiming over 150 lives. It was originally reported that the only survivor was a five-year-old boy; however, the next day news sources were citing a 14-year-old girl as the sole survivor. I searched the crash to find out what had happened to the boy, thinking that he had possibly died and they'd found another survivor. It turned out that the earlier report was an error. While searching, though, I stumbled upon several accounts of other airplane catastrophes from which there emerged only one living person. I spent a couple of hours reading the accounts of these people, which left me thinking about what it would feel like if I were the only survivor of a disaster that cost the lives of everyone else involved. How would I handle the survivor's guilt? Would I spend my life always trying to "be more," feeling like I was spared so that I could do something significant? Would I feel like a failure if I didn't do something that I deemed worthy enough? Would I ever even be able to LEAD a normal life again? Would I be thankful for the gift I'd been granted and live life to the fullest? Or would I be a shell of a person, living the terrible day over and over?
It's definitely something I'd like to address in a short story. For now, I'd like to share some of the stories I found about sole survivors. Whether you call it sheer luck or a miracle, these are fascinating stories of survival.
Here is the first one.
Juliane Koepcke
Today, Juliane Koepcke is a librarian at the Zoological Center in Munich, Germany. But 38 years ago, in the Peruvian jungle, she was a survivor.
December 24, 1971. Christmas Eve. Koepcke was seventeen years old. She and her mother boarded a Lockheed Electra turboprop in Peru for a flight into the Amazonian rainforest, where Koepcke's father, a zoologist, was studying wildlife.
The airline had already lost two plains, but Koepcke and her mother were determined to spend the holidays with her father and figured things "would be alright."
About halfway into the hour-long flight, the plane flew into heavy clouds and began shaking. A bolt of lightning, seen only as a flash from inside the plane, hit one of the fuel tanks. The right wing was torn off of the plane, sending the aircraft into a nose dive.
Koepcke remembers her mother saying, 'This is it!'" She also remembers presents flying through the cabin and the screams of her fellow passengers.
The plane broke into pieces in midair, thrusting Koepcke out of the plane.
"Suddenly there was this amazing silence. The plane was gone. I must have been unconscious and then came to in midair. I was flying, spinning through the air and I could see the forest spinning beneath me."
Koepcke lost consciousness again. She fell more than two miles into the jungle canopy but miraculously survived with only minor injuries. The other ninety-one people aboard Flight 508, including her mother, perished.
Koepcke says she is not a spiritual person and has tried to find logical explanations for why she survived.
"Maybe it was the fact that I was still attached to a whole row of seats," she says. "It was rotating much like the helicopter and that might have slowed the fall. Also, the place I landed had very thick foliage and that might have lessened the impact."
Koepcke survived with only a broken collarbone, a right eye that was swollen shut, a concussion and large gashes on her arms and legs.
"I didn't wake up until nine o'clock the next morning. I know this because my watch was still working. So I must have been unconscious the whole afternoon and the night. When I came to I was alone, just me ... and my row of seats."
Koepcke found herself injured and stranded in the jungle since rescue parties were unable to locate the wreckage. During her time spent at her parents' research station, her father had taught her how to survive in the rainforest. She would need it in order to survive the next portion of her horrific ordeal.
The day after the crash she found a creek and started to wade down stream. Her father had told her to follow the small bodies of water to the larger ones and that it would eventually lead to people. The journey wasn't easy, though. She subsisted on candy she recovered from the crash site.
There was also the problem of parasites.
"I had a cut on my arm and after a few days I could feel there was something in it. I took a look and a fly had laid her eggs in the hole. It was full of maggots. I was afraid I would lose my arm. Later, after I was rescued it was treated and more than 50 maggots were found inside. I still wonder how so many maggots could have fitted into that little hole, it was no bigger than a one euro coin."
As she travelled , Koepcke discovered more wreckage from the plane, including other victims.
"I found another row of seats with three dead women still strapped in. They had landed head-first and the impact must have been so hard that they were buried almost two feet into the ground. I was horrified--I didn't want to touch them, but I wanted to make sure that my mother wasn't one of them. So I took a stick and knocked a shoe off one of the bodies. The toe nails had nail polish on them and I knew it could not have been my mother because she never used nail polish."
Juliane waded through jungle streams infested with crocodiles, piranhas and devil rays.
"Sometimes I would see a crocodile on the bank and it would start into the water towards me, but I was not afraid. I knew crocodiles don't tend to attack humans."
It took ten days before Koepke finally came upon a small boat and a hut on the river. She stayed there, hoping someone would find her and rescue her. The next day a group of Peruvian lumberjacks found her and brought her to the next town.
The events of 1971 still haunt Koepcke and she says the memories are especially clear when she is confronted with airline disasters like those in recent months.
"It just horrifies me. I only hope it all went quickly for those on board."
(Source: http://www.cnn.com/)
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Subtle Changes
Please bear with me. This will probably be long. And while it may seem like it's all about the death of a family dog, that is just the beginning...
Last weekend, my parents' fifteen-year-old lab/husky mix, Prissy, woke them up in the middle of the night. Over the past year or so, her health has slowly deteriorated. She couldn't hear well. She could no longer control her bowels. She was stiff. However, she still had a hearty appetite and retained her sunny disposition and playfulness (at least what her body would allow). We weren't sure she'd survive the winter, but she did. However, we were sure the blistering days we've experienced so far this summer would be too much for her. Mom and Dad kept the back porch watered down and kept a box fan running to keep her cool. On Saturday night, though, she began crying because she could not get up. My parents helped her up and spent most of the night tending to her and consoling her. On Sunday, Mom called to tell me that Prissy was very sick and that on Monday she would need to go to the vet, this time not to be treated but to bring an end to her pain. Sunday night was worse, with Mom spending much of the night on the porch, petting Prissy and talking to her.
On Monday morning, I called Mom and told her I would come down to help in any way. Any of you who know me very well know how I am about dogs. I generally prefer their company over the company of people, and I consider my two dogs to be as much a part of my family as any human relative. I knew the task before me would be difficult since not only would I be dealing with the death of a dog but also my mother's sadness. As I drove down, I prayed out loud for God to give me strength and peace.
When I arrived at my parents' house, mom was outside sitting with Prissy. Mom had given her some Vicodin to ease her pain and help her rest. Prissy couldn't get up or even roll over, but she still had her doggy smile.
Dad had started a grave down by the woods and asked me to go and look at it to see if it was wide enough. I found the grave--only about six inches deep--and it was only wide and long enough for a small dog. I didn't ask Dad to dig any more. He's been to the ER several times in recent years after passing out. They've never found a reason for this, but I figured digging a grave in the June heat couldn't be good for him, especially since he's 77 now. My friend Vaughn came to help me dig (though he moved a lot more dirt than I could). The ground was hard and full of roots, but we managed to dig a hole both deep and large enough to hold what would be the remains of our Prissy.
Mom put a tarp in the back of my Highlander because I couldn't stand the thought of her sliding around in the back of the pickup. Since she couldn't walk and we were afraid we'd hurt her or drop her if we picked her up, we had to place a sheet under her and carry her to the car. As Dad and I prepared to leave, Mom cried said goodbye to Prissy. I said a silent prayer again for strength. Seeing my mother cry devastates me, and at that exact moment, I needed to hold myself together for the drive to South Jackson.
I had forgotten how much Prissy doesn't like cars. Couple that with her fear and pain, and the ride to the vet was excruciating. She cried and moaned which made me cry. Since she can't hear much, nothing we said comforted her. Dad asked if I wanted to pull over and let him drive so that I could climb into the back with her. I knew, though, if I sat that close to her I would completely lose all composure. I hated to seem cold, but I knew I wouldn't be able to follow through with what we had to do if I sat with her. So I drove. I drove and I tried to talk about anything besides what we were doing.
We arrived at the vet and I filled out the necessary paperwork. I guess I had blocked out how expensive it is to have a pet put to sleep. It almost seems cruel that some people have financial stress added to the emotional stress of losing a pet. Though the money wasn't an issue on Monday, several years ago I had to have a stray puppy we picked up put down because we didn't have money for parvo treatments (John was in school and I was teaching). I remember wondering what WE would have to sacrifice to pay for euthanizing the puppy, which in turn made me feel like the most selfish person ever.
A vet tech carried Prissy inside and placed her on the table in an exam room. I sat with her while we waited on the vet. I was holding everything in, not wanting to cry and scare her. I talked to her and told her she was a good dog and that she was going to be okay. When the vet came in, though, I couldn't help it. As he very kindly explained the procedure I started crying. He asked us if we needed more time with her. I shook my head, knowing I had to get out of the room. I kissed my fingers and touched her face. I promised her, "You won't hurt any more."
Dad stayed with her since I couldn't and I didn't want her to be alone. It all took less than two minutes. When he came out, he told me that she closed her eyes immediately after the injection and that it was very peaceful. I began to text message furiously, anything to take my mind off of what had just happened a few feet away behind the door of exam room #2.
They wrapped her body and placed it in a box. The techs put her body in my car and we began the drive home. When we got there, dad wanted to sit and rest for awhile but I insisted that he get up and help me get her down to the grave. Knowing she was in my car made me anxious. I needed it to be done. We carried her down to the edge of the woods and placed her in the grave. We started to shovel dirt. In less than a minute, Dad was flushed. I told him to go inside, that I would finish. He put his shovel down and walked to the house.
I spent the next little while burying one of the sweetest dogs I've ever met. Thinking about it now, I can't believe I did it, that I did ANY of it. I obsess over stray dogs I see walking down the side of the road, worrying for miles that they will get hit by a car. I'm not sure how I held up as well as I did through the death and burial of a beautiful dog.
It's been two days now. I'm sad about Prissy, but I'm thankful she had a long life and that she did not have to suffer long. What has stuck with me and perhaps haunted me is the role reversals I experienced that day.
I've always accused my mother of being over-protective, but it's not something I mind so much to be honest. Not only has she tried to protect me from danger, she has also tried to protect me from sadness and heartache. My mother is one of the most empathetic people I've ever met, and she doesn't like to see people hurt--especially her children. When I told her I would come and take care of things with Prissy, she agreed. Don't get me wrong, I didn't offer to do it because I thought she'd refuse and I wouldn't have to follow through. I wanted her to let me handle it. She is so emotionally taxed by my grandparents that I just couldn't let her bear this burden, too. But when she agreed, I was surprised. I was ready to insist, but it wasn't necessary. I've had to take care of my mother physically in the past, but never emotionally. I've never had to step up and protect her from experiencing any more sadness. And while I'm not the least bit hesitant to do it, it was a reminder that both my mother and I are getting older.
Monday was also a reminder that my father--my strong, protective father--is not a young man anymore. He is not frail by any means, but he is not able to perform the physical work he once could. When he put down his shovel, I watched him walk toward the house, still with a slight limp even after having both knees replaced. At my insistence, my father had stopped working to return to the house, leaving me alone to bury Prissy. As I shoveled dirt back into the grave, I found myself worrying about my dad's health, both physical and mental. I suddenly assumed the role of a parent, hoping that he takes care of himself and doesn't do anything to push himself too hard. Though part of me still feels like Daddy's little girl, the other part of me feels like I should be protecting him. It's not a feeling I like but it is one I must accept.
I am blessed with wonderful, loving parents, but I am not fortunate enough to have parents as young as some of my friends. I am 30. My father is 77; my mother, 62. Every visit to my grandparents is sad and scary, watching time rob them of their minds and often their dignity. I pray that my parents remain healthy, both physically and mentally. It's not that I'm afraid of the physical commitment a child must make to take care of ailing parents, though I know how grueling it can be. I just can't bear the thought of my father not knowing who I am or my mother becoming a totally different person. But it is not for us to decide our fate in our last years and I pray that God will once again make me strong and give me peace. I pray that I can be the daughter that my mother has been to her parents, never giving up even when it would be easier and possibly less painful to walk away.
On Monday, I buried a dog. But I also buried a small piece of me, the little girl me that I still cling to.
I think I'm officially an adult now.
And I want to go back.
Last weekend, my parents' fifteen-year-old lab/husky mix, Prissy, woke them up in the middle of the night. Over the past year or so, her health has slowly deteriorated. She couldn't hear well. She could no longer control her bowels. She was stiff. However, she still had a hearty appetite and retained her sunny disposition and playfulness (at least what her body would allow). We weren't sure she'd survive the winter, but she did. However, we were sure the blistering days we've experienced so far this summer would be too much for her. Mom and Dad kept the back porch watered down and kept a box fan running to keep her cool. On Saturday night, though, she began crying because she could not get up. My parents helped her up and spent most of the night tending to her and consoling her. On Sunday, Mom called to tell me that Prissy was very sick and that on Monday she would need to go to the vet, this time not to be treated but to bring an end to her pain. Sunday night was worse, with Mom spending much of the night on the porch, petting Prissy and talking to her.
On Monday morning, I called Mom and told her I would come down to help in any way. Any of you who know me very well know how I am about dogs. I generally prefer their company over the company of people, and I consider my two dogs to be as much a part of my family as any human relative. I knew the task before me would be difficult since not only would I be dealing with the death of a dog but also my mother's sadness. As I drove down, I prayed out loud for God to give me strength and peace.
When I arrived at my parents' house, mom was outside sitting with Prissy. Mom had given her some Vicodin to ease her pain and help her rest. Prissy couldn't get up or even roll over, but she still had her doggy smile.
Dad had started a grave down by the woods and asked me to go and look at it to see if it was wide enough. I found the grave--only about six inches deep--and it was only wide and long enough for a small dog. I didn't ask Dad to dig any more. He's been to the ER several times in recent years after passing out. They've never found a reason for this, but I figured digging a grave in the June heat couldn't be good for him, especially since he's 77 now. My friend Vaughn came to help me dig (though he moved a lot more dirt than I could). The ground was hard and full of roots, but we managed to dig a hole both deep and large enough to hold what would be the remains of our Prissy.
Mom put a tarp in the back of my Highlander because I couldn't stand the thought of her sliding around in the back of the pickup. Since she couldn't walk and we were afraid we'd hurt her or drop her if we picked her up, we had to place a sheet under her and carry her to the car. As Dad and I prepared to leave, Mom cried said goodbye to Prissy. I said a silent prayer again for strength. Seeing my mother cry devastates me, and at that exact moment, I needed to hold myself together for the drive to South Jackson.
I had forgotten how much Prissy doesn't like cars. Couple that with her fear and pain, and the ride to the vet was excruciating. She cried and moaned which made me cry. Since she can't hear much, nothing we said comforted her. Dad asked if I wanted to pull over and let him drive so that I could climb into the back with her. I knew, though, if I sat that close to her I would completely lose all composure. I hated to seem cold, but I knew I wouldn't be able to follow through with what we had to do if I sat with her. So I drove. I drove and I tried to talk about anything besides what we were doing.
We arrived at the vet and I filled out the necessary paperwork. I guess I had blocked out how expensive it is to have a pet put to sleep. It almost seems cruel that some people have financial stress added to the emotional stress of losing a pet. Though the money wasn't an issue on Monday, several years ago I had to have a stray puppy we picked up put down because we didn't have money for parvo treatments (John was in school and I was teaching). I remember wondering what WE would have to sacrifice to pay for euthanizing the puppy, which in turn made me feel like the most selfish person ever.
A vet tech carried Prissy inside and placed her on the table in an exam room. I sat with her while we waited on the vet. I was holding everything in, not wanting to cry and scare her. I talked to her and told her she was a good dog and that she was going to be okay. When the vet came in, though, I couldn't help it. As he very kindly explained the procedure I started crying. He asked us if we needed more time with her. I shook my head, knowing I had to get out of the room. I kissed my fingers and touched her face. I promised her, "You won't hurt any more."
Dad stayed with her since I couldn't and I didn't want her to be alone. It all took less than two minutes. When he came out, he told me that she closed her eyes immediately after the injection and that it was very peaceful. I began to text message furiously, anything to take my mind off of what had just happened a few feet away behind the door of exam room #2.
They wrapped her body and placed it in a box. The techs put her body in my car and we began the drive home. When we got there, dad wanted to sit and rest for awhile but I insisted that he get up and help me get her down to the grave. Knowing she was in my car made me anxious. I needed it to be done. We carried her down to the edge of the woods and placed her in the grave. We started to shovel dirt. In less than a minute, Dad was flushed. I told him to go inside, that I would finish. He put his shovel down and walked to the house.
I spent the next little while burying one of the sweetest dogs I've ever met. Thinking about it now, I can't believe I did it, that I did ANY of it. I obsess over stray dogs I see walking down the side of the road, worrying for miles that they will get hit by a car. I'm not sure how I held up as well as I did through the death and burial of a beautiful dog.
It's been two days now. I'm sad about Prissy, but I'm thankful she had a long life and that she did not have to suffer long. What has stuck with me and perhaps haunted me is the role reversals I experienced that day.
I've always accused my mother of being over-protective, but it's not something I mind so much to be honest. Not only has she tried to protect me from danger, she has also tried to protect me from sadness and heartache. My mother is one of the most empathetic people I've ever met, and she doesn't like to see people hurt--especially her children. When I told her I would come and take care of things with Prissy, she agreed. Don't get me wrong, I didn't offer to do it because I thought she'd refuse and I wouldn't have to follow through. I wanted her to let me handle it. She is so emotionally taxed by my grandparents that I just couldn't let her bear this burden, too. But when she agreed, I was surprised. I was ready to insist, but it wasn't necessary. I've had to take care of my mother physically in the past, but never emotionally. I've never had to step up and protect her from experiencing any more sadness. And while I'm not the least bit hesitant to do it, it was a reminder that both my mother and I are getting older.
Monday was also a reminder that my father--my strong, protective father--is not a young man anymore. He is not frail by any means, but he is not able to perform the physical work he once could. When he put down his shovel, I watched him walk toward the house, still with a slight limp even after having both knees replaced. At my insistence, my father had stopped working to return to the house, leaving me alone to bury Prissy. As I shoveled dirt back into the grave, I found myself worrying about my dad's health, both physical and mental. I suddenly assumed the role of a parent, hoping that he takes care of himself and doesn't do anything to push himself too hard. Though part of me still feels like Daddy's little girl, the other part of me feels like I should be protecting him. It's not a feeling I like but it is one I must accept.
I am blessed with wonderful, loving parents, but I am not fortunate enough to have parents as young as some of my friends. I am 30. My father is 77; my mother, 62. Every visit to my grandparents is sad and scary, watching time rob them of their minds and often their dignity. I pray that my parents remain healthy, both physically and mentally. It's not that I'm afraid of the physical commitment a child must make to take care of ailing parents, though I know how grueling it can be. I just can't bear the thought of my father not knowing who I am or my mother becoming a totally different person. But it is not for us to decide our fate in our last years and I pray that God will once again make me strong and give me peace. I pray that I can be the daughter that my mother has been to her parents, never giving up even when it would be easier and possibly less painful to walk away.
On Monday, I buried a dog. But I also buried a small piece of me, the little girl me that I still cling to.
I think I'm officially an adult now.
And I want to go back.
Friday, June 26, 2009
For you Miley
So today I was thinking about Miley Cyrus.
No, seriously.
As I passed through the living room, Showbiz Tonight (why, CNN? WHY?) was promising news on some kind of "scandal" involving Miss Hannah Montana herself. It ended up being nothing that even involved the girl.
Well, I started thinking off all the times that people (including me) have labeled her a "bad role model" for young girls. But you know, compared to some of the other girls her age (from past and present), she's really not that bad. No DUIs. No drug charges. No pregnancies. No crotch shots or boob slips.
I mean, yeah, she's been kinda bitchy to some of her fellow Disney stars. She's had some questionable photos on the Internet (as well as the famous "naked back" cover from Vanity Fair). She hasn't always said the brightest things or made the best decisions. I'll even admit that if I had a little girl, I wouldn't want her to look up to Miley.
My point, though, is that we've all been a bit hard on the girl. Considering the Hollywood world she's growing up in (and she is still growing up--she's only 16) and all of the temptations that are available (for free!), the kid's not doing half bad. I mean, if the paps had followed ME around with a camera at her age, I shudder at what they would have captured on film. Why are we holding her up to some higher standard just because she's famous? If anything, she has it harder that any of us did when it comes to temptations. She's surrounded by it. When it comes down to it, how many of us were shitty role models for younger kids when we were teenagers? I got into enough trouble living in Podunk; I can't imagine what might have happened if I were in HER position.
So, do I necessarily think little girls should want to emulate Miley? I wouldn't go that far. But I DO think it's taking a bit far to practically label the child with a scarlet letter. I know at this point she's losing steam and young girls are finding new young celebrities to idolize, but I've been hard on Miley before and feel like admitting it.
I mean, I'm sure it's kept her up at night...
No, seriously.
As I passed through the living room, Showbiz Tonight (why, CNN? WHY?) was promising news on some kind of "scandal" involving Miss Hannah Montana herself. It ended up being nothing that even involved the girl.
Well, I started thinking off all the times that people (including me) have labeled her a "bad role model" for young girls. But you know, compared to some of the other girls her age (from past and present), she's really not that bad. No DUIs. No drug charges. No pregnancies. No crotch shots or boob slips.
I mean, yeah, she's been kinda bitchy to some of her fellow Disney stars. She's had some questionable photos on the Internet (as well as the famous "naked back" cover from Vanity Fair). She hasn't always said the brightest things or made the best decisions. I'll even admit that if I had a little girl, I wouldn't want her to look up to Miley.
My point, though, is that we've all been a bit hard on the girl. Considering the Hollywood world she's growing up in (and she is still growing up--she's only 16) and all of the temptations that are available (for free!), the kid's not doing half bad. I mean, if the paps had followed ME around with a camera at her age, I shudder at what they would have captured on film. Why are we holding her up to some higher standard just because she's famous? If anything, she has it harder that any of us did when it comes to temptations. She's surrounded by it. When it comes down to it, how many of us were shitty role models for younger kids when we were teenagers? I got into enough trouble living in Podunk; I can't imagine what might have happened if I were in HER position.
So, do I necessarily think little girls should want to emulate Miley? I wouldn't go that far. But I DO think it's taking a bit far to practically label the child with a scarlet letter. I know at this point she's losing steam and young girls are finding new young celebrities to idolize, but I've been hard on Miley before and feel like admitting it.
I mean, I'm sure it's kept her up at night...
Something borrowed...
Ginger Kolbaba, the editor of Marriage Partnerships, wrote this open letter to Kate Goesselin. It's worth a read and definitely a different take than ANYTHING you hear in the media. Read on...
In the past you’ve been vocal about your Christian faith. To be sure, I don’t know all the circumstances of your situation. I haven’t “walked in your shoes” or carried the burdens you’ve had to bear. I’ve heard the rumors that there’s been infidelity with possibly no repentance. And if that’s true, my heart breaks for all you’ve had to experience through that situation. I’ve seen “up close and personal” the devastation that infidelity can have on a marriage and family.
Having said that, as a sister in Christ to you, take what I’m about to say in the spirit of love and concern: Please don’t do what you’re doing.
And I’m not just talking to you. I’m talking to your husband too.
For too long I’ve watched Christian couples live self-centered lives, pursuing their own desires, talking about following Christ and the principles of our faith, but not actually living them out. And when life gets difficult—as it does for every couple—they throw in the towel, acting helpless, showing to the world that when the apostle Paul said, “We are more than conquerors through Christ,” he didn’t actually mean it.
For too long I’ve watched Christians show to those outside our faith that Christianity, in fact, doesn’t strengthen us or make us any different from people who don’t follow Jesus. Instead I hear couples say, “The kids will be better off to have calm. It’s not good for them to see us arguing. Everything will be just fine. We’re doing this for the kids. It’s all for the good of the kids.”
It’s rubbish. Kate (and Jon), who’s in control of the peace and calm of the kids? You are. You have the responsibility to bring calm into your family. But the good news is that God brings the grace and power to help you do that, through his Word, through prayer, through the community of believers, and through good old-fashioned determination. Why wash your hands of it, as though to say, It’s not my fault. I don’t know how else to manage it but to separate. I have no control over the situation.
Other people may say that. But not us. Not those of us who say we believe in the power of Jesus Christ and what he did for us on the cross.
You say you love your children. For the sake of your family, for the sake of how you’re portraying Christianity to the world, and for the sake of your own souls, quit the TV show and get some privacy, get into some good solid, biblical counseling and accountability, grow up, and start acting on your beliefs.
Model to your children and to the world that when life gets difficult, you do the right and courageous thing: You stand firm in your faith, you pray desperately, you follow the Golden Rule in the way you treat your spouse (Luke 6:31), you commit to staying together. And you always remember that this is an eternal, spiritual issue.
Kate, right now is when the proverbial rubber meets the road. Right now is when God watches to see if the tests of life will make you into the kind of person he desires or if you will go the way of the world. James tells us to “consider it pure joy . . . whenever you face trails of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything” (James 1:2–4).
Right now you have been presented with an amazing opportunity. You can teach your children how to look at tough times through spiritual eyes. Is it easy? No. But it beats the alternative of allowing your family to be broken up, crushing your spirit, and fracturing your soul. The road you’re on doesn’t lead to peace and calm for anybody.
True joy and peace come after you’ve fought the good fight and you come out on the other side of this conflict still married and still an intact family. That’s what people who live by faith do. They believe in the power of Christ to overcome every trouble and problem. But you have to do your part and work willingly alongside God’s Holy Spirit. Not giving up. Never giving up.
You can do it, Kate. I believe you have the ability through Christ to stick it out, mature in your spiritual character, and show your children what overcoming difficulties really looks like. That’s loving your children and loving God. That’s showing our culture what following Jesus looks like. You won’t regret it. And neither will your kids.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Recycling - May 10, 2006
9 Chapters of Heartache
Chapter One
Nappy head, nappy head, comb your hair
Mama tells me to ignore those children. She says they're just jealous cause I got something they don't.
They're all plain and I'm special.
I don't understand what's so special about me. What's so special about being so different? I don't look like nobody. Not those kids at school. Not even my mama.
All those kids with their light skin and shiny eyes, with their hair that lays flat. Even my mama, she has yellow hair and eyes the color of fresh snap beans.
I never seen my daddy. He died before I was born. Mama said he drowned in the Forked Deer.
She says I look like my daddy and that's how come I'm special. Mama cries when she looks at me sometimes.
I tell her it would be a lot easier if daddy was here. It'd be nice to look like someone.
I've asked to see a picture of my daddy, but Mama says she don't have one. She says daddy didn't like having his picture made.
I've asked Granny and Paps about my daddy. Paps took me to the kitchen and traded ice cream for my thoughts. Granny looked real mad but then she cried a little.
Guess they must have really loved my daddy, too
Chapter Two
"Reenie asked about her daddy again today."
"Mmm."
"Max, did you hear what I said?"
"I heard you."
"She getting older, Max. She gonna want to know."
"She don't need to know, Neetha. She just a girl."
"You used to say the exact same thing about Meg."
"Meg was different and you know it. Don't try to blame me for Meg."
"I'm not blaming you, Max. What happened to Meg was her own damned fault. But we can't blame her for Reenie not having a daddy. That's our fault."
"No, Neetha, its not. Meg knew better. We did what we had to do to protect her. Reenie's better off without her daddy anyway."
"How can you--"
"Look. I don't want to argue about this again. It won't change anything. If Meg wants Reenie to know, she can tell her. Let her explain to the poor child why she's a bastard and why the other kids won't play with her. It's not our place. Now go get dinner started before it gets dark."
Chapter Three
Every time I look at that child's face, I see her daddy looking back at me.
My blessing and my heartache.
He'd be twenty nine this week.
Reenie would have a daddy, someone who looks like her.
And I wouldn't have to endure any more lonely nights or one night stands or half-hearted relationships.
I never was a good liar. Mama always knew I was telling a story from how I'd chew my lip and pigeon my toes.
But no one saw through the biggest lie I ever told.
And since then, every day has been a lie.
Lying to my daughter.
Lying to myself.
Chapter Four
"Mama, its time to put those pictures away and go to bed. We got church in the morning."
"I can't decide what to get him, Janet. You think he could use a pair of work boots? He's so rough on his shoes. I don't know what that boy does to wear holes in his shoes like that."
"Now, Mama, don't do this. Not tonight."
"But his birthdays Tuesday. The store'll be closed tomorrow for the Sabbath, so I have to get him something Monday. Would you drive me into town, honey?"
"That's fine, Mama. Whatever you want. Well talk about it tomorrow, though. I'm tired."
"I wonder what's taking him so long to get home?"
"For who to get home, Mama?"
"Glory be, child. Who you think? Ain't but one 'he' in this house since your daddy died."
"Mama, you know that that he goes out sometimes on Saturday night with those Wilson boys. There's no need to wait up for him. He might not be in 'til after midnight."
"Lord, I know. I just worry bout him, Janet. I worry 'bout my baby. You'll understand someday when you got children of your own."
"I'm sure I will, Mama. Now let's go on to bed. We can't have you fallin' asleep in the choir tomorrow."
Chapter Five
Alvin,
Hope you and the kids are making it without me. I'm coming home on Wednesday after Leona gets here. Mama had a pretty good day. She got to talking about Ben tonight, though. He'd be celebrating a birthday next week and she's wondering what to get him. I know the doctors told us to set her straight, but I just didn't have it in me to do it tonight. I told her we'd go to the store and shop on Monday. I don't know how much longer we can all do this. Every day is different and they don't seem to get any easier. For her or us. I shudder to think about losing one of ours, but I pray that I handle it better than this if it should happen. I regret that we didn't let her see him. She needed to see him, Alvin. She needed closure. I just didn't think at the time that she could handle him looking so bad. Kiss the children for me. I love you.
Janet
Chapter Six
"Sherriff, Jerry just came home and said there's a colored boy laying on the side of the road out past the Harville place. I ain't sure if he's dead or not, but y'all need to come out and check on it. Jerry says the boy's covered in blood."
Chapter Seven
"Margaret Lee, I don't want no explanations. There's no explaining this."
"But Daddy, you don't understand--"
"I don't want to understand. I want to know why you would do this to your mama and me. Do you know what this could do to our family? I could lose my job over this. And for what? For some no good coon--"
"Don't you dare say that! He's a good man. He's good to me. And he loves me."
"A good man don't take advantage of a little girl like you!"
"I ain't a little girl now! I'm seventeen years old! And he didn't want to do it. He told me we should wait 'til we married. I begged him to, though. I wanted to. He didn't take advantage of me. This is my fault. I wanted to show him how much I love him!"
"You don't love him, child, he ain't our kind. He's an animal and no daughter of mine is dating an animal. He don't love you. All he knows is fucking. He just wanted to go back and brag to all his little greasy friends how he got him a little white girl in the bed."
"Why won't you listen to me, daddy? You don't know him. You don't know what he's like with me. He sings to me and brings me flowers and he made me a little jewelry box with his own hands. And he's smart, Daddy. He reads and he even writes songs some."
"And what did you think was going to come of all this? Did you think that far? You think you got a future with him? That he'll marry you? You two gonna have some little mutt kids running around your shack? You think he's gonna settle down with you? Those people are like dogs in heat. How could you be so stupid, child! Have we not taught you anything?
"But we--"
"We, we, we, Meg. We what? What were we gonna do?"
"Dammit, Daddy, we were going to leave! We've been saving money for months, just waiting for me to graduate. He was going to marry me, Daddy!"
"Leave? Now you listen to me. You ain't going anywhere. And I mean anywhere. You're staying in this house unless you leave with your mother or me."
"You can't go to school with me."
"Then you won't go to school. We're withdrawing you Monday morning."
"But Daddy--"
"Shut your mouth, Margaret. You brought this on yourself. I want you to call that boy and tell him this is done. You will never see him again. And if I catch him showing his face around here, I'll kill him myself. Now go wash your face off before your mother gets home."
Chapter Eight
Oh God. She hasn't asked me to bring her anything from the store this month. Please don't punish my daughter for her mistake. Please don't make her pay for this for the rest of her life. Please spare our family from the shame of her sin. I've served you faithfully. Grant this one prayer for me, Father.
Chapter Nine
"Now, Meg, did he say anything to you, anything at all?"
"He...he told me, 'Be quiet bitch or I'll choke you.'"
"And then what happened?"
"He put his...he touched..."
"It's okay, baby. I know this is hard, but you have to tell them everything. You don't have to be ashamed because you've done nothing wrong. Now, tell Sheriff Bailey what happened so that he can take care of this."
Chapter Ten
The body of a man wanted in connection with the recent sexual assault of a Sherman High School senior was found on Mason Road early this morning. Police have identified the man as 20-year-old Benjamin Miller. Miller had been beaten and preliminary reports indicate that he most likely died of trauma to the head. There were no signs of struggle at the scene and police speculate that he was attacked elsewhere and left on Mason Road some time between midnight and 4:00 AM. Anyone with information is encouraged to contact Sheriff Dan Bailey.
Chapter One
Nappy head, nappy head, comb your hair
Mama tells me to ignore those children. She says they're just jealous cause I got something they don't.
They're all plain and I'm special.
I don't understand what's so special about me. What's so special about being so different? I don't look like nobody. Not those kids at school. Not even my mama.
All those kids with their light skin and shiny eyes, with their hair that lays flat. Even my mama, she has yellow hair and eyes the color of fresh snap beans.
I never seen my daddy. He died before I was born. Mama said he drowned in the Forked Deer.
She says I look like my daddy and that's how come I'm special. Mama cries when she looks at me sometimes.
I tell her it would be a lot easier if daddy was here. It'd be nice to look like someone.
I've asked to see a picture of my daddy, but Mama says she don't have one. She says daddy didn't like having his picture made.
I've asked Granny and Paps about my daddy. Paps took me to the kitchen and traded ice cream for my thoughts. Granny looked real mad but then she cried a little.
Guess they must have really loved my daddy, too
Chapter Two
"Reenie asked about her daddy again today."
"Mmm."
"Max, did you hear what I said?"
"I heard you."
"She getting older, Max. She gonna want to know."
"She don't need to know, Neetha. She just a girl."
"You used to say the exact same thing about Meg."
"Meg was different and you know it. Don't try to blame me for Meg."
"I'm not blaming you, Max. What happened to Meg was her own damned fault. But we can't blame her for Reenie not having a daddy. That's our fault."
"No, Neetha, its not. Meg knew better. We did what we had to do to protect her. Reenie's better off without her daddy anyway."
"How can you--"
"Look. I don't want to argue about this again. It won't change anything. If Meg wants Reenie to know, she can tell her. Let her explain to the poor child why she's a bastard and why the other kids won't play with her. It's not our place. Now go get dinner started before it gets dark."
Chapter Three
Every time I look at that child's face, I see her daddy looking back at me.
My blessing and my heartache.
He'd be twenty nine this week.
Reenie would have a daddy, someone who looks like her.
And I wouldn't have to endure any more lonely nights or one night stands or half-hearted relationships.
I never was a good liar. Mama always knew I was telling a story from how I'd chew my lip and pigeon my toes.
But no one saw through the biggest lie I ever told.
And since then, every day has been a lie.
Lying to my daughter.
Lying to myself.
Chapter Four
"Mama, its time to put those pictures away and go to bed. We got church in the morning."
"I can't decide what to get him, Janet. You think he could use a pair of work boots? He's so rough on his shoes. I don't know what that boy does to wear holes in his shoes like that."
"Now, Mama, don't do this. Not tonight."
"But his birthdays Tuesday. The store'll be closed tomorrow for the Sabbath, so I have to get him something Monday. Would you drive me into town, honey?"
"That's fine, Mama. Whatever you want. Well talk about it tomorrow, though. I'm tired."
"I wonder what's taking him so long to get home?"
"For who to get home, Mama?"
"Glory be, child. Who you think? Ain't but one 'he' in this house since your daddy died."
"Mama, you know that that he goes out sometimes on Saturday night with those Wilson boys. There's no need to wait up for him. He might not be in 'til after midnight."
"Lord, I know. I just worry bout him, Janet. I worry 'bout my baby. You'll understand someday when you got children of your own."
"I'm sure I will, Mama. Now let's go on to bed. We can't have you fallin' asleep in the choir tomorrow."
Chapter Five
Alvin,
Hope you and the kids are making it without me. I'm coming home on Wednesday after Leona gets here. Mama had a pretty good day. She got to talking about Ben tonight, though. He'd be celebrating a birthday next week and she's wondering what to get him. I know the doctors told us to set her straight, but I just didn't have it in me to do it tonight. I told her we'd go to the store and shop on Monday. I don't know how much longer we can all do this. Every day is different and they don't seem to get any easier. For her or us. I shudder to think about losing one of ours, but I pray that I handle it better than this if it should happen. I regret that we didn't let her see him. She needed to see him, Alvin. She needed closure. I just didn't think at the time that she could handle him looking so bad. Kiss the children for me. I love you.
Janet
Chapter Six
"Sherriff, Jerry just came home and said there's a colored boy laying on the side of the road out past the Harville place. I ain't sure if he's dead or not, but y'all need to come out and check on it. Jerry says the boy's covered in blood."
Chapter Seven
"Margaret Lee, I don't want no explanations. There's no explaining this."
"But Daddy, you don't understand--"
"I don't want to understand. I want to know why you would do this to your mama and me. Do you know what this could do to our family? I could lose my job over this. And for what? For some no good coon--"
"Don't you dare say that! He's a good man. He's good to me. And he loves me."
"A good man don't take advantage of a little girl like you!"
"I ain't a little girl now! I'm seventeen years old! And he didn't want to do it. He told me we should wait 'til we married. I begged him to, though. I wanted to. He didn't take advantage of me. This is my fault. I wanted to show him how much I love him!"
"You don't love him, child, he ain't our kind. He's an animal and no daughter of mine is dating an animal. He don't love you. All he knows is fucking. He just wanted to go back and brag to all his little greasy friends how he got him a little white girl in the bed."
"Why won't you listen to me, daddy? You don't know him. You don't know what he's like with me. He sings to me and brings me flowers and he made me a little jewelry box with his own hands. And he's smart, Daddy. He reads and he even writes songs some."
"And what did you think was going to come of all this? Did you think that far? You think you got a future with him? That he'll marry you? You two gonna have some little mutt kids running around your shack? You think he's gonna settle down with you? Those people are like dogs in heat. How could you be so stupid, child! Have we not taught you anything?
"But we--"
"We, we, we, Meg. We what? What were we gonna do?"
"Dammit, Daddy, we were going to leave! We've been saving money for months, just waiting for me to graduate. He was going to marry me, Daddy!"
"Leave? Now you listen to me. You ain't going anywhere. And I mean anywhere. You're staying in this house unless you leave with your mother or me."
"You can't go to school with me."
"Then you won't go to school. We're withdrawing you Monday morning."
"But Daddy--"
"Shut your mouth, Margaret. You brought this on yourself. I want you to call that boy and tell him this is done. You will never see him again. And if I catch him showing his face around here, I'll kill him myself. Now go wash your face off before your mother gets home."
Chapter Eight
Oh God. She hasn't asked me to bring her anything from the store this month. Please don't punish my daughter for her mistake. Please don't make her pay for this for the rest of her life. Please spare our family from the shame of her sin. I've served you faithfully. Grant this one prayer for me, Father.
Chapter Nine
"Now, Meg, did he say anything to you, anything at all?"
"He...he told me, 'Be quiet bitch or I'll choke you.'"
"And then what happened?"
"He put his...he touched..."
"It's okay, baby. I know this is hard, but you have to tell them everything. You don't have to be ashamed because you've done nothing wrong. Now, tell Sheriff Bailey what happened so that he can take care of this."
Chapter Ten
The body of a man wanted in connection with the recent sexual assault of a Sherman High School senior was found on Mason Road early this morning. Police have identified the man as 20-year-old Benjamin Miller. Miller had been beaten and preliminary reports indicate that he most likely died of trauma to the head. There were no signs of struggle at the scene and police speculate that he was attacked elsewhere and left on Mason Road some time between midnight and 4:00 AM. Anyone with information is encouraged to contact Sheriff Dan Bailey.
Recycling - December 29, 2005
“Bethany Lynn Miller, you either get out of that bed in the next 10 seconds, or I will drag you to church in your nightgown!”
I roll my back to her and let out a combination snort and grunt.
“Young lady, I am not kidding. You are gonna make us all late again. Don’t make me get your daddy in here.”
I flip my pillow to the cool side and pull my quilt further up over my head. Like Daddy’s gonna do anything. He’s sitting in the den, drinking coffee and getting his Sunday School lesson ready.
Momma knows I’ve called her bluff.
“Now why are you going to make me act all un-Christian on Sunday? Why can’t we just have a nice, normal Sunday and go to church without a big fuss?”
From under my quilt I answer, “I don’t know, Momma, you tell me. You’re the one doing all the screaming.”
No sooner are the words out of my mouth than I know what is about to happen. In one swoop, my sheet and quilt are in the floor and Momma has jerked my pillow from underneath my head. I try to brace myself, but it’s too late. Morning has arrived and it’s cold and bright and loud in only the way Momma can make it.
“Now, smart-mouth, we are leaving in half an hour. I want you showered and dressed and presentable. You have new pantyhose in your dresser. And pin your hair back out of your face. You’re going to the Lord’s house.”
I mouth these last words with her. It’s a bit of a Sunday morning ritual.
When she clumps off to the bathroom to take the hot rollers out of her hair, I make my way to the edge of the bed. Why can’t I praise Jesus from here? I’d make a much more joyful noise from under my blanket. Instead of “Holly Springs Baptist Church” I’ll go to “Box Springs Baptist Church.” I smile to myself, wondering how I’ll work that in on Momma. She just hates when I make jokes about the church.
I walk down the hall to the kitchen. After pouring a glass of chocolate milk, I head to the living room to see how Daddy’s lesson is coming. Daddy’s the Sunday School teacher for the “Single, Separated or Divorced Young Men’s” class. He always waits until the last minute to do his lessons. He says that God works best with a deadline which explains why He created the universe in six days.
“Mornin’, Daddy.”
“Morning, Miss Prissy Britches. You sure got your Momma riled up this morning.”
“Yeah, I thought for a minute she had the Holy Ghost in her. What’s your lesson about?”
“The fruits of the Spirit.”
“Sounds tasty.”
“Now, Beth, don’t sass about the Good Book.”
“Sorry. So which one are you on this week?”
“One of the hard ones—patience.”
“Can Momma sit in on your class?”
“Very funny. Now go get ready. And hurry, I can’t be late.”
I walk back down the hall to the bathroom, finishing my chocolate milk along the way and trying to decide what I should wear. I don’t understand why I have to dress up. Momma says that we should give our best to God and that includes our appearance. I figure Jesus wore tunics and sandals, so He probably doesn’t care if I wear pantyhose or not.
“Beth, why aren’t you in the shower?”
Momma appears in front of me. She’s in her slip and has a toothbrush in one hand and my little brother’s clothes in the other. Half of her hair is still in curlers.
“I’m headed that way, Momma. I was thirsty.”
“Well, you should have thought of that when you were layin’ in bed.”
“I’m sorry, Momma. It’s early.”
“I’ve been up since 5:30 working on costumes for the children’s choir, don’t talk to me about early,” she says, walking away. “Now hurry, I’ll need help getting your little brother dressed.”
“Why doesn’t Daddy help get him dressed?”
Momma spins on her heel and takes a deep breath. I know I’ve hit a sore spot with her.
“Because your Daddy is too busy drinking his coffee and doing his Sunday School lesson. Now go!”
I grab a towel from the closet and head toward the bathroom. I turn the water on in the shower and wait for it to heat up.
And I wait. And wait. After a good three minutes I turn the water off.
“Momma!”
I stand and wait, determined she will have to come to me.
“MOMMA!”
The door of the bathroom flies open.
“What, Bethany, what?”
“There ain’t any hot water.”
“Well, that’s what you get when you’re the last one up.”
“But I can’t take a cold shower. It’s 40 degrees outside.”
“Bethany, you have 20 minutes. Figure something out.”
And off she goes, leaving me standing there in nothing but a shower cap.
I wrap a towel around me and walk to the sink where I proceed to take what my grandmother would call a “whore’s bath.” I can at least handle the cold water on one part of me at a time.
I peel off the shower cap and brush out my hair, scanning the counter for a scrunchie. Today will definitely be a ponytail day. Jesus will just have to deal with it.
I flip my head over and use a blow dryer to fluff it up. As I stand up straight and turn the dryer off, I hear Momma’s voice from across the house.
“…help me do something this wouldn’t happen!”
“Are you saying that I shouldn’t prepare my Sunday School lesson?”
“I’m just saying that I can’t get the kids ready and me ready, too!”
“Well that’s your job so you’re just going to have to find a way to do it!”
I tiptoe down the hall. Momma and Daddy are standing in the kitchen. He has his coat on and is waving his Bible in the air at Momma.
“Just go on to church without us. We’ll be there after while.”
“That will look really good, Barbara, us coming separate to church. You already missed last Sunday!”
“Just tell everybody that the baby threw up or something. We’ll be there later.”
“So you want me to lie?”
“Fine, Glen, then tell them you’re a selfish jackass who won’t help me do anything!”
My parents usually get along pretty well. There’s something about Sunday morning, though, that brings out the worst in all of us. This morning is no exception.
I hurry back to my room before I get pulled into the argument or yelled at for not getting ready. I rummage through my closet in an attempt to find something to wear and listen to my father slam the front door.
After going through every possible piece of clothing in my closet, I stick my head out the door and holler down the hall.
“Momma, have you seen my denim skirt?”
No answer.
“Momma?”
“I heard you. It’s in the dirty clothes.”
“Why didn’t you wash it?”
“Bethany, I’m behind on laundry.”
“But I need it.”
“Then you should have washed it yourself!”
I hear a tone in her voice that makes me decide not to push the issue. Why, why, why don’t I have more church clothes? Why do I spend all of my allowance on cool clothes and tennis shoes? I accept that I will have to wear what I wore on the previous Sunday and say a silent prayer that no one notices.
After hopping around my room doing the pantyhose dance, I pull on my dress and slip my feet into a pair of black flats. I sit down at my vanity and start putting on my makeup. At least something is will look good today.
No sooner than I have my foundation on than Momma is standing in my doorway.
“I need help with Jed. He hasn’t had breakfast yet.”
“But Momma, I’m not ready.”
“Bethany, we are already late as it is. I cannot tolerate your whining right now. You can do your makeup in the hand-mirror while he eats.”
I sigh and grab my cosmetic bag. In the kitchen, Jed is throwing a ball against the refrigerator.
“Jed, can you not do that this morning?”
“Befaneeee.”
“Yes, I’m Bethany. We’ve established that. Now, do you want Cheerios or Rice Krispies?”
“Befanneeeeeeee.”
“What Jed? I’m right here. What?”
“I gotta go to potty.”
“Now?”
He nods and smiles, sheepishly.
I begin to undress him, wondering why in the world mom dressed him in a one-piece. As I try to work his little legs out of his sailor suit, the floor around him grows wet, and he begins to wail.
“I sorry, Beffie. I sorry.”
I can feel it welling up in my throat—the urge to scream “Momma” and let her deal with it. But I don’t. I’ve seen my mother at the proverbial wits end, and I know she’s headed toward the edge this morning.
“Stay here, buddy, okay? I’ll be back in a minute. I’m going to get you some clothes.”
I jog to my parents’ bedroom. My mother, still in her slip, is standing in her closet, leaning face first into the clothes.
“Momma?”
“Mmmm.”
“Um, Jed spilled grape juice all over himself. Does he have anything else to wear?”
“Wh grjus?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you.”
She leans back from the clothes.
“Why grape juice?”
“He wanted it. But don’t worry, I’m gonna change him and I’ll be ready to go soon.”
I leave the room before she can protest. I grab a little pantsuit out of Jed’s bureau and a towel from the linen closet in the hall.
Thankfully, Jed is still sitting where I left him. After drying and dressing Jed, as well as cleaning the floor, I grab my cosmetic bag head back to my room to finish getting ready.
Momma is sitting at my vanity, looking in the mirror. She doesn’t seem to realize I’m in the room.
“Momma, are you okay?”
“Yes, honey, I just needed to sit down for a minute.”
I walk over to her. I’m not sure what to say. She’s always so in control, handling fourteen things at once. Suddenly she looks very tired—and very old.
“Is something the matter?”
“I just remembered that we’re having a potluck after church today, and I forgot to make anything.”
With her final two words, her voice breaks. Tears stream down her cheek, carrying her liquid eyeliner with them. I have no idea what to do except to put my arms around her. She sobs into my chest.
“It’s okay, Momma. Look, Jed’s ready to go, and I can do my makeup in the car. We’ll stop at the store and grab a cake or something. It’s no big deal. I’ll even sneak it in so no one will think you forgot to cook something.”
Momma stops crying and looks me in the eye. It’s a look I haven’t seen before, almost like she doesn’t know me. It only lasts for a second, though, and pats my arm and stands up.
“Where’s your brother?”
“He’s in the den.”
“Let’s get a move on then. We’re going to miss Sunday School, but we can’t be late for preaching.”
She heads to my door, leaving me a bit stunned. Before she crosses the threshold, she turns around and looks at me.
“You know, Bethany, you’re starting to turn into a young woman.”
And then she’s gone.
Our last 15 minutes in the house are a whirlwind. Momma disappears to her bathroom. I finish slathering on my makeup and smooth out my ponytail. I even dig out a pair little pearl earrings from my jewelry box. Something extra for the Lord—and Momma.
Momma emerges from the bathroom, somehow completely pulled together. Even her eyeliner is straight. She grabs her purse and our Bibles, and I grab Jed. She locks up as I buckle him into the car seat.
Twenty minutes later, we are pulling into the Holly Springs parking lot, a day-old Sock It To Me cake in my lap. Momma parks and runs Jed to the nursery while I sneak the cake into the fellowship hall as I promised.
Soon, we are standing at the sanctuary doors. The usher hands me a church bulletin and shakes Momma’s hand. Momma and I make our way to our pew up front. Daddy is already sitting there. I pray that he doesn’t say anything mean to Momma.
“Everything okay, Barb?” he says, a smile plastered to his face.
“Yes, we’re just fine,” Momma replies, returning the smile.
“Did you bring something for the potluck?”
“Yes, Glen, I did.”
“Good, I figured you’d forget.”
I halfway expect Momma to pick up a hymnal and smack Daddy. I even want to smack him. She doesn’t, though. She just keeps smiling and turns to Sister Patterson, sitting in the pew behind us.
“Maylene, I just love your hat.”
“Bless you, Barbara, you’re the sweetest thing.”
“Oh, no, there’s nothing sweeter than a Sunday morning.”
As the preacher takes the pulpit, I watch my mother out of the corner of my eye. Hair in place and a smile on her face, living proof that God must exist.
I roll my back to her and let out a combination snort and grunt.
“Young lady, I am not kidding. You are gonna make us all late again. Don’t make me get your daddy in here.”
I flip my pillow to the cool side and pull my quilt further up over my head. Like Daddy’s gonna do anything. He’s sitting in the den, drinking coffee and getting his Sunday School lesson ready.
Momma knows I’ve called her bluff.
“Now why are you going to make me act all un-Christian on Sunday? Why can’t we just have a nice, normal Sunday and go to church without a big fuss?”
From under my quilt I answer, “I don’t know, Momma, you tell me. You’re the one doing all the screaming.”
No sooner are the words out of my mouth than I know what is about to happen. In one swoop, my sheet and quilt are in the floor and Momma has jerked my pillow from underneath my head. I try to brace myself, but it’s too late. Morning has arrived and it’s cold and bright and loud in only the way Momma can make it.
“Now, smart-mouth, we are leaving in half an hour. I want you showered and dressed and presentable. You have new pantyhose in your dresser. And pin your hair back out of your face. You’re going to the Lord’s house.”
I mouth these last words with her. It’s a bit of a Sunday morning ritual.
When she clumps off to the bathroom to take the hot rollers out of her hair, I make my way to the edge of the bed. Why can’t I praise Jesus from here? I’d make a much more joyful noise from under my blanket. Instead of “Holly Springs Baptist Church” I’ll go to “Box Springs Baptist Church.” I smile to myself, wondering how I’ll work that in on Momma. She just hates when I make jokes about the church.
I walk down the hall to the kitchen. After pouring a glass of chocolate milk, I head to the living room to see how Daddy’s lesson is coming. Daddy’s the Sunday School teacher for the “Single, Separated or Divorced Young Men’s” class. He always waits until the last minute to do his lessons. He says that God works best with a deadline which explains why He created the universe in six days.
“Mornin’, Daddy.”
“Morning, Miss Prissy Britches. You sure got your Momma riled up this morning.”
“Yeah, I thought for a minute she had the Holy Ghost in her. What’s your lesson about?”
“The fruits of the Spirit.”
“Sounds tasty.”
“Now, Beth, don’t sass about the Good Book.”
“Sorry. So which one are you on this week?”
“One of the hard ones—patience.”
“Can Momma sit in on your class?”
“Very funny. Now go get ready. And hurry, I can’t be late.”
I walk back down the hall to the bathroom, finishing my chocolate milk along the way and trying to decide what I should wear. I don’t understand why I have to dress up. Momma says that we should give our best to God and that includes our appearance. I figure Jesus wore tunics and sandals, so He probably doesn’t care if I wear pantyhose or not.
“Beth, why aren’t you in the shower?”
Momma appears in front of me. She’s in her slip and has a toothbrush in one hand and my little brother’s clothes in the other. Half of her hair is still in curlers.
“I’m headed that way, Momma. I was thirsty.”
“Well, you should have thought of that when you were layin’ in bed.”
“I’m sorry, Momma. It’s early.”
“I’ve been up since 5:30 working on costumes for the children’s choir, don’t talk to me about early,” she says, walking away. “Now hurry, I’ll need help getting your little brother dressed.”
“Why doesn’t Daddy help get him dressed?”
Momma spins on her heel and takes a deep breath. I know I’ve hit a sore spot with her.
“Because your Daddy is too busy drinking his coffee and doing his Sunday School lesson. Now go!”
I grab a towel from the closet and head toward the bathroom. I turn the water on in the shower and wait for it to heat up.
And I wait. And wait. After a good three minutes I turn the water off.
“Momma!”
I stand and wait, determined she will have to come to me.
“MOMMA!”
The door of the bathroom flies open.
“What, Bethany, what?”
“There ain’t any hot water.”
“Well, that’s what you get when you’re the last one up.”
“But I can’t take a cold shower. It’s 40 degrees outside.”
“Bethany, you have 20 minutes. Figure something out.”
And off she goes, leaving me standing there in nothing but a shower cap.
I wrap a towel around me and walk to the sink where I proceed to take what my grandmother would call a “whore’s bath.” I can at least handle the cold water on one part of me at a time.
I peel off the shower cap and brush out my hair, scanning the counter for a scrunchie. Today will definitely be a ponytail day. Jesus will just have to deal with it.
I flip my head over and use a blow dryer to fluff it up. As I stand up straight and turn the dryer off, I hear Momma’s voice from across the house.
“…help me do something this wouldn’t happen!”
“Are you saying that I shouldn’t prepare my Sunday School lesson?”
“I’m just saying that I can’t get the kids ready and me ready, too!”
“Well that’s your job so you’re just going to have to find a way to do it!”
I tiptoe down the hall. Momma and Daddy are standing in the kitchen. He has his coat on and is waving his Bible in the air at Momma.
“Just go on to church without us. We’ll be there after while.”
“That will look really good, Barbara, us coming separate to church. You already missed last Sunday!”
“Just tell everybody that the baby threw up or something. We’ll be there later.”
“So you want me to lie?”
“Fine, Glen, then tell them you’re a selfish jackass who won’t help me do anything!”
My parents usually get along pretty well. There’s something about Sunday morning, though, that brings out the worst in all of us. This morning is no exception.
I hurry back to my room before I get pulled into the argument or yelled at for not getting ready. I rummage through my closet in an attempt to find something to wear and listen to my father slam the front door.
After going through every possible piece of clothing in my closet, I stick my head out the door and holler down the hall.
“Momma, have you seen my denim skirt?”
No answer.
“Momma?”
“I heard you. It’s in the dirty clothes.”
“Why didn’t you wash it?”
“Bethany, I’m behind on laundry.”
“But I need it.”
“Then you should have washed it yourself!”
I hear a tone in her voice that makes me decide not to push the issue. Why, why, why don’t I have more church clothes? Why do I spend all of my allowance on cool clothes and tennis shoes? I accept that I will have to wear what I wore on the previous Sunday and say a silent prayer that no one notices.
After hopping around my room doing the pantyhose dance, I pull on my dress and slip my feet into a pair of black flats. I sit down at my vanity and start putting on my makeup. At least something is will look good today.
No sooner than I have my foundation on than Momma is standing in my doorway.
“I need help with Jed. He hasn’t had breakfast yet.”
“But Momma, I’m not ready.”
“Bethany, we are already late as it is. I cannot tolerate your whining right now. You can do your makeup in the hand-mirror while he eats.”
I sigh and grab my cosmetic bag. In the kitchen, Jed is throwing a ball against the refrigerator.
“Jed, can you not do that this morning?”
“Befaneeee.”
“Yes, I’m Bethany. We’ve established that. Now, do you want Cheerios or Rice Krispies?”
“Befanneeeeeeee.”
“What Jed? I’m right here. What?”
“I gotta go to potty.”
“Now?”
He nods and smiles, sheepishly.
I begin to undress him, wondering why in the world mom dressed him in a one-piece. As I try to work his little legs out of his sailor suit, the floor around him grows wet, and he begins to wail.
“I sorry, Beffie. I sorry.”
I can feel it welling up in my throat—the urge to scream “Momma” and let her deal with it. But I don’t. I’ve seen my mother at the proverbial wits end, and I know she’s headed toward the edge this morning.
“Stay here, buddy, okay? I’ll be back in a minute. I’m going to get you some clothes.”
I jog to my parents’ bedroom. My mother, still in her slip, is standing in her closet, leaning face first into the clothes.
“Momma?”
“Mmmm.”
“Um, Jed spilled grape juice all over himself. Does he have anything else to wear?”
“Wh grjus?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you.”
She leans back from the clothes.
“Why grape juice?”
“He wanted it. But don’t worry, I’m gonna change him and I’ll be ready to go soon.”
I leave the room before she can protest. I grab a little pantsuit out of Jed’s bureau and a towel from the linen closet in the hall.
Thankfully, Jed is still sitting where I left him. After drying and dressing Jed, as well as cleaning the floor, I grab my cosmetic bag head back to my room to finish getting ready.
Momma is sitting at my vanity, looking in the mirror. She doesn’t seem to realize I’m in the room.
“Momma, are you okay?”
“Yes, honey, I just needed to sit down for a minute.”
I walk over to her. I’m not sure what to say. She’s always so in control, handling fourteen things at once. Suddenly she looks very tired—and very old.
“Is something the matter?”
“I just remembered that we’re having a potluck after church today, and I forgot to make anything.”
With her final two words, her voice breaks. Tears stream down her cheek, carrying her liquid eyeliner with them. I have no idea what to do except to put my arms around her. She sobs into my chest.
“It’s okay, Momma. Look, Jed’s ready to go, and I can do my makeup in the car. We’ll stop at the store and grab a cake or something. It’s no big deal. I’ll even sneak it in so no one will think you forgot to cook something.”
Momma stops crying and looks me in the eye. It’s a look I haven’t seen before, almost like she doesn’t know me. It only lasts for a second, though, and pats my arm and stands up.
“Where’s your brother?”
“He’s in the den.”
“Let’s get a move on then. We’re going to miss Sunday School, but we can’t be late for preaching.”
She heads to my door, leaving me a bit stunned. Before she crosses the threshold, she turns around and looks at me.
“You know, Bethany, you’re starting to turn into a young woman.”
And then she’s gone.
Our last 15 minutes in the house are a whirlwind. Momma disappears to her bathroom. I finish slathering on my makeup and smooth out my ponytail. I even dig out a pair little pearl earrings from my jewelry box. Something extra for the Lord—and Momma.
Momma emerges from the bathroom, somehow completely pulled together. Even her eyeliner is straight. She grabs her purse and our Bibles, and I grab Jed. She locks up as I buckle him into the car seat.
Twenty minutes later, we are pulling into the Holly Springs parking lot, a day-old Sock It To Me cake in my lap. Momma parks and runs Jed to the nursery while I sneak the cake into the fellowship hall as I promised.
Soon, we are standing at the sanctuary doors. The usher hands me a church bulletin and shakes Momma’s hand. Momma and I make our way to our pew up front. Daddy is already sitting there. I pray that he doesn’t say anything mean to Momma.
“Everything okay, Barb?” he says, a smile plastered to his face.
“Yes, we’re just fine,” Momma replies, returning the smile.
“Did you bring something for the potluck?”
“Yes, Glen, I did.”
“Good, I figured you’d forget.”
I halfway expect Momma to pick up a hymnal and smack Daddy. I even want to smack him. She doesn’t, though. She just keeps smiling and turns to Sister Patterson, sitting in the pew behind us.
“Maylene, I just love your hat.”
“Bless you, Barbara, you’re the sweetest thing.”
“Oh, no, there’s nothing sweeter than a Sunday morning.”
As the preacher takes the pulpit, I watch my mother out of the corner of my eye. Hair in place and a smile on her face, living proof that God must exist.
Recycling - December 28, 2005
I'm digging through my old Myspace blog and recycling posts from as far back as 2005.
Howard
Howard opened the menu and nervously scanned the selections. It was his first date in over three years and thus far was going very well. When he showed up at her front door, she hadn’t seemed taken aback by his size, an admirable start to a blind date with Howard. Now they were sitting at a table in Trattoria La Strada, one of Howard’s favorite restaurants. He felt his stomach growl as he studied the menu. Petto Di Pollo Alla Parmigiana. Bistecca Alla Fiorentina. Filetto Al Chianti. Even rolling the beautiful words around in his mouth made him salivate. He had to make a good first impression, though. It had to appear that he was at least attempting to lose weight. Suddenly, the waiter was standing beside the table with their wine.
“Are you both ready to order now?” he politely asked.
Howard looked to his date. She was nodding, so he quickly made his decision.
“I’ll have the Insalata Di Pere Al Curry, please.”
A salad. Light and healthy. Besides, he could stop at Burger King on the way home if necessary. The waiter took his menu and turned to Howard’s date.
“And for you, Signora?”
“Yes, I’d like the Costolette Al Rosmarino, please.”
After the waiter returned to the kitchen, Howard nervously began a conversation with his date. She wasn’t necessarily an attractive girl, but she was charming. An alum of Sarah Lawrence, she had moved West with the Teach for America Program. She told him horror stories about teaching at an inner-city high school, though he never detected a note of bitterness or fear in her voice.
Within twenty minutes, their food had arrived. Howard tried to act excited about his salad. When he saw his date’s plate, though, his tongue flickered at his lips. Huge lamb chops smothered in olive oil and rosemary. He couldn’t stop staring at her plate. Howard’s date became uncomfortable, interpreting his staring as a reflection on her.
“I don’t usually eat this much. I missed lunch today, though, because I was tutoring.”
Howard assured her that it was okay, that he liked a girl who didn’t eat like a bird. The whole time he spoke, though, his eyes never left the magnificent mutton in front of her. She pretended she didn’t notice and picked up her fork.
“Buon appetite,” she said and began cutting into the lamb chops.
Howard picked up his fork and stabbed at a pear and a few sun-dried tomatoes. Why had he ordered a salad? He could have at least ordered pasta. At least the carbs would somewhat satisfy his aching stomach. The combination of meat and spices floating over to his side of the table made Howard’s head hurt. He could imagine his teeth tearing into the juicy meet, the marinade saturating his taste buds. He wondered if he could get his date away from the table long enough to sneak a few bites.
But how to make her leave? Was there something she’d left in the car? Could he make her have to use the bathroom? Maybe he could tell her about his trip to Niagara Falls or the time he went white water rafting. What if he spilled some pepper and accidentally blew it her way. Surely she’d begin sneezing and have to leave the table for a moment. Better yet, he could spill wine on her. The bread basket was sitting beside her glass; it would look like a total accident.
Howard just had to have a bit or two of what she was eating. He could make her mad. He could say something mean and make her storm out of the restaurant. He was paying for the meal anyway, and it’s not like he had feelings for her yet. Sure, she’d been nice so far and seemed to genuinely be interested, but how long could that last? He’d have to eat in front of her or take his clothes off at some point, anyway, after which she’d put her tail between her legs and run. How would he do it? Make fun of her? Say something rude or hateful? He looked at his date, chattering away about some poem a mentally-challenged student had written. No, he couldn’t hurt her. He’d have to do better than that.
Then it hit him. He’d make her lose her appetite. He’d burp or fart or pick his nose. He’d cough without covering his mouth. He’d clean out his ears at the table. He’d sneeze and snort and maybe even spit in his napkin. It would have to work. No woman would sit at a table and continue eating with such an uncouth dinner companion.
Howard began straining, deciding to open his performance by breaking wind. He could feel his skin becoming flushed.
“Howard, are you okay?”
He told her he was fine and speared another piece of greens as he told himself that in a few moments he could ditch the salad and consume what was left of the lamb chops. He chewed heartily as he felt the pressure welling up inside, the gas making its way toward the seat of his pants. His date continued to talk, something now about a concert this Tuesday and needing someone to go with her. Howard couldn’t listen, though. All of his concentration was focused on getting her to leave the table and hopefully the restaurant.
“You know, Howard, I feel terrible. I ordered all of this food and just can’t eat anymore. Please take this other lamb chop and finish it. I don’t want it to go to waste, and I don’t like leftovers.”
Through the straining and pushing, Howard heard enough of what she said to piece together the meaning. He focused his eyes on her, slowly relaxing his body. Howard looked at his date and looked at the pork chop, lingering on the latter for several seconds longer. Through clenched teeth he attempted to protest.
“No, I couldn’t, I have my salad—“
“No, really, there’s no need for it to go to waste. It’s delicious. And, um, I noticed your greens look a little brown. Wouldn’t you rather eat this?”
Howard looked away from the lamb chops long enough to inspect his salad. Not a spot of brown anywhere. He looked back at his date and gave her an inquisitive look. She pushed her plate across the table.
“Really, Howard, it’s okay. I mean it.”
Howard looked his date in the eyes and smiled. She smiled back and patted his hand, wondering aloud if it would be possible to get ice cream after dinner.
As Howard chewed his first bite, he wondered if this was love.
Howard
Howard opened the menu and nervously scanned the selections. It was his first date in over three years and thus far was going very well. When he showed up at her front door, she hadn’t seemed taken aback by his size, an admirable start to a blind date with Howard. Now they were sitting at a table in Trattoria La Strada, one of Howard’s favorite restaurants. He felt his stomach growl as he studied the menu. Petto Di Pollo Alla Parmigiana. Bistecca Alla Fiorentina. Filetto Al Chianti. Even rolling the beautiful words around in his mouth made him salivate. He had to make a good first impression, though. It had to appear that he was at least attempting to lose weight. Suddenly, the waiter was standing beside the table with their wine.
“Are you both ready to order now?” he politely asked.
Howard looked to his date. She was nodding, so he quickly made his decision.
“I’ll have the Insalata Di Pere Al Curry, please.”
A salad. Light and healthy. Besides, he could stop at Burger King on the way home if necessary. The waiter took his menu and turned to Howard’s date.
“And for you, Signora?”
“Yes, I’d like the Costolette Al Rosmarino, please.”
After the waiter returned to the kitchen, Howard nervously began a conversation with his date. She wasn’t necessarily an attractive girl, but she was charming. An alum of Sarah Lawrence, she had moved West with the Teach for America Program. She told him horror stories about teaching at an inner-city high school, though he never detected a note of bitterness or fear in her voice.
Within twenty minutes, their food had arrived. Howard tried to act excited about his salad. When he saw his date’s plate, though, his tongue flickered at his lips. Huge lamb chops smothered in olive oil and rosemary. He couldn’t stop staring at her plate. Howard’s date became uncomfortable, interpreting his staring as a reflection on her.
“I don’t usually eat this much. I missed lunch today, though, because I was tutoring.”
Howard assured her that it was okay, that he liked a girl who didn’t eat like a bird. The whole time he spoke, though, his eyes never left the magnificent mutton in front of her. She pretended she didn’t notice and picked up her fork.
“Buon appetite,” she said and began cutting into the lamb chops.
Howard picked up his fork and stabbed at a pear and a few sun-dried tomatoes. Why had he ordered a salad? He could have at least ordered pasta. At least the carbs would somewhat satisfy his aching stomach. The combination of meat and spices floating over to his side of the table made Howard’s head hurt. He could imagine his teeth tearing into the juicy meet, the marinade saturating his taste buds. He wondered if he could get his date away from the table long enough to sneak a few bites.
But how to make her leave? Was there something she’d left in the car? Could he make her have to use the bathroom? Maybe he could tell her about his trip to Niagara Falls or the time he went white water rafting. What if he spilled some pepper and accidentally blew it her way. Surely she’d begin sneezing and have to leave the table for a moment. Better yet, he could spill wine on her. The bread basket was sitting beside her glass; it would look like a total accident.
Howard just had to have a bit or two of what she was eating. He could make her mad. He could say something mean and make her storm out of the restaurant. He was paying for the meal anyway, and it’s not like he had feelings for her yet. Sure, she’d been nice so far and seemed to genuinely be interested, but how long could that last? He’d have to eat in front of her or take his clothes off at some point, anyway, after which she’d put her tail between her legs and run. How would he do it? Make fun of her? Say something rude or hateful? He looked at his date, chattering away about some poem a mentally-challenged student had written. No, he couldn’t hurt her. He’d have to do better than that.
Then it hit him. He’d make her lose her appetite. He’d burp or fart or pick his nose. He’d cough without covering his mouth. He’d clean out his ears at the table. He’d sneeze and snort and maybe even spit in his napkin. It would have to work. No woman would sit at a table and continue eating with such an uncouth dinner companion.
Howard began straining, deciding to open his performance by breaking wind. He could feel his skin becoming flushed.
“Howard, are you okay?”
He told her he was fine and speared another piece of greens as he told himself that in a few moments he could ditch the salad and consume what was left of the lamb chops. He chewed heartily as he felt the pressure welling up inside, the gas making its way toward the seat of his pants. His date continued to talk, something now about a concert this Tuesday and needing someone to go with her. Howard couldn’t listen, though. All of his concentration was focused on getting her to leave the table and hopefully the restaurant.
“You know, Howard, I feel terrible. I ordered all of this food and just can’t eat anymore. Please take this other lamb chop and finish it. I don’t want it to go to waste, and I don’t like leftovers.”
Through the straining and pushing, Howard heard enough of what she said to piece together the meaning. He focused his eyes on her, slowly relaxing his body. Howard looked at his date and looked at the pork chop, lingering on the latter for several seconds longer. Through clenched teeth he attempted to protest.
“No, I couldn’t, I have my salad—“
“No, really, there’s no need for it to go to waste. It’s delicious. And, um, I noticed your greens look a little brown. Wouldn’t you rather eat this?”
Howard looked away from the lamb chops long enough to inspect his salad. Not a spot of brown anywhere. He looked back at his date and gave her an inquisitive look. She pushed her plate across the table.
“Really, Howard, it’s okay. I mean it.”
Howard looked his date in the eyes and smiled. She smiled back and patted his hand, wondering aloud if it would be possible to get ice cream after dinner.
As Howard chewed his first bite, he wondered if this was love.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Day 7 - June 9
For the most part, I buckled back down today. The BBQ sandwich wasn't the wisest choice, but it was the healthiest of what I had to choose from that I would eat. I wish I'd discovered a long time ago that I can eat TWO grilled chicken fillets from Chickfila and STILL be healthier than if I eat ONE grilled sandwich. Bread bad!
BREAKFAST
Yoplait light blackberry yogurt, Fiber One apple bar, unsweet tea
230 calories
2 g. fat
50 g. carbs
9 g. fiber
2 g. protein
LUNCH (approximate values)
Regular pulled pork sandwich (plain); unsweet tea
600 calories
18 g. fat
83 g. carbs ( I SUCK with the carb thing!)
2 g. fiber
29 g. protein
DINNER (Chickfila)
Two grilled chicken fillets (I got them without buns); water
200 calories
3 g. fat
2 g. carbs
0 g. fiber
42 g. protein
DAILY TOTALS:
1030 calories
23 g. fat
132 g. carbs
11 g. fiber
73 g. protein
I still need to work on raising my calories to 1200 and getting my carbs under better control. Need to get a little more fiber, too.
Tomorrow will be a week since I started the Adipex. Someone today asked if I'd lost weight. Since I'm not weighing between my monthly doctor's visits, I have no idea. My clothes already seem to be fitting better and I'm not bloated. Hopefully it's not just water weight that I've lost.
BREAKFAST
Yoplait light blackberry yogurt, Fiber One apple bar, unsweet tea
230 calories
2 g. fat
50 g. carbs
9 g. fiber
2 g. protein
LUNCH (approximate values)
Regular pulled pork sandwich (plain); unsweet tea
600 calories
18 g. fat
83 g. carbs ( I SUCK with the carb thing!)
2 g. fiber
29 g. protein
DINNER (Chickfila)
Two grilled chicken fillets (I got them without buns); water
200 calories
3 g. fat
2 g. carbs
0 g. fiber
42 g. protein
DAILY TOTALS:
1030 calories
23 g. fat
132 g. carbs
11 g. fiber
73 g. protein
I still need to work on raising my calories to 1200 and getting my carbs under better control. Need to get a little more fiber, too.
Tomorrow will be a week since I started the Adipex. Someone today asked if I'd lost weight. Since I'm not weighing between my monthly doctor's visits, I have no idea. My clothes already seem to be fitting better and I'm not bloated. Hopefully it's not just water weight that I've lost.
Days 5 and 6 (June 7-8)
Okay, no more "vacation" eating. Back to super strict. I have to admit, though, I didn't do so poorly this weekend. I had some treats, but I didn't go overboard so I won't beat myself up too much.
On Sunday, I didn't keep up with my calories, fat, etc. I had a house full of friends and just didn't worry about it. I know I ate some whole grain and nut blueberry pancakes with banana for brunch. They were yummy and healthy. We had an ice cream social at my house for Kevin and Yvette, and I sampled the three homemade ice creams. I steered clear of all the toppings, cookies and chips, though. For dinner I totally splurged. Yvette loves Sonic and there isn't one near where she lives. I decided to treat myself to a plain cheeseburger. No tots, though.
Yesterday, we were in Memphis all day so we ate out a lot. I don't think I did TOO badly, though. I did eat a steak, which I dread looking up. However, I went to TWO movies and didn't eat ANYTHING. No soda, no popcorn and no beloved Reeses Pieces. Guess I'll find out just how I did after the totals.
BREAKFAST
Nutrigrain bar, coffee (black)
140 calories
3 g. fat
26 g. carbs
1 g. fiber
1 g. protein
LUNCH (McAllisters)
Half of a basil Parmesan chicken panini; cup of chicken tortilla soup; water
491 calories
16 g. fat
53 g. carbs
4.5 g. fiber
31 g. protein
DINNER (Firebirds)
Steak (12 ounce sirloin; I ate 9 ounces); baked potato; tablespoon butter; tablespoon ranch; water
897 calories
52 g. fat
36 g. carbs
4 g. fiber
66 g. protein
DAILY TOTALS
CALORIES - 1528
FAT - 71 grams (OUCH!)
CARBS - 115 grams
FIBER - 10 grams
PROTEIN - 98 grams
I could kick myself at this point or I could remember what my totals would have been even two weeks ago BEFORE I started dieting.
Gotta do better on Tuesday.
On Sunday, I didn't keep up with my calories, fat, etc. I had a house full of friends and just didn't worry about it. I know I ate some whole grain and nut blueberry pancakes with banana for brunch. They were yummy and healthy. We had an ice cream social at my house for Kevin and Yvette, and I sampled the three homemade ice creams. I steered clear of all the toppings, cookies and chips, though. For dinner I totally splurged. Yvette loves Sonic and there isn't one near where she lives. I decided to treat myself to a plain cheeseburger. No tots, though.
Yesterday, we were in Memphis all day so we ate out a lot. I don't think I did TOO badly, though. I did eat a steak, which I dread looking up. However, I went to TWO movies and didn't eat ANYTHING. No soda, no popcorn and no beloved Reeses Pieces. Guess I'll find out just how I did after the totals.
BREAKFAST
Nutrigrain bar, coffee (black)
140 calories
3 g. fat
26 g. carbs
1 g. fiber
1 g. protein
LUNCH (McAllisters)
Half of a basil Parmesan chicken panini; cup of chicken tortilla soup; water
491 calories
16 g. fat
53 g. carbs
4.5 g. fiber
31 g. protein
DINNER (Firebirds)
Steak (12 ounce sirloin; I ate 9 ounces); baked potato; tablespoon butter; tablespoon ranch; water
897 calories
52 g. fat
36 g. carbs
4 g. fiber
66 g. protein
DAILY TOTALS
CALORIES - 1528
FAT - 71 grams (OUCH!)
CARBS - 115 grams
FIBER - 10 grams
PROTEIN - 98 grams
I could kick myself at this point or I could remember what my totals would have been even two weeks ago BEFORE I started dieting.
Gotta do better on Tuesday.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Day 4 - June 6
Another day, another diet. We still have company so we're eating out, but I'm eating small portions and trying to choose things that are at least fairly healthy. I didn't write stuff down today, so I may have to "guesstimate" on some of this.
Slept through breakfast (YES! I SLEPT!)
LUNCH
4 small grilled chicken strips; baked potato with 1 tablespoon of butter; 1 slice bread; water
585 calories
14 g. fat
72 carbs
29 g. protein
6 g. fiber
SNACK (approximate totals)
Fat free, sugar free caramel frappe
160 calories
1.5 g fat
30 g. carbs
5 g. protein
3 g. fiber
Dinner
Bowl of chicken tortilla soup
194 calories
8 g. fat
17 g. carbs
1 g. fiber
13 g. protein
SNACK
Apple Fiber One Bar
130 calories
2 g. fat
31 g. carbs
9 g. fiber
2 g. protein
DAILY TOTALS
CALORIES - 1069
FAT - 25.5 grams
CARBS - 150 grams
FIBER - 19 g fiber
PROTEIN - 49 grams
I'm fairly pleased with this. John thinks I need to consume more calories, but I'm not hungry and I'm eating healthy.
Day 5 tomorrow...
Slept through breakfast (YES! I SLEPT!)
LUNCH
4 small grilled chicken strips; baked potato with 1 tablespoon of butter; 1 slice bread; water
585 calories
14 g. fat
72 carbs
29 g. protein
6 g. fiber
SNACK (approximate totals)
Fat free, sugar free caramel frappe
160 calories
1.5 g fat
30 g. carbs
5 g. protein
3 g. fiber
Dinner
Bowl of chicken tortilla soup
194 calories
8 g. fat
17 g. carbs
1 g. fiber
13 g. protein
SNACK
Apple Fiber One Bar
130 calories
2 g. fat
31 g. carbs
9 g. fiber
2 g. protein
DAILY TOTALS
CALORIES - 1069
FAT - 25.5 grams
CARBS - 150 grams
FIBER - 19 g fiber
PROTEIN - 49 grams
I'm fairly pleased with this. John thinks I need to consume more calories, but I'm not hungry and I'm eating healthy.
Day 5 tomorrow...
Friday, June 5, 2009
Day 3 - June 5
People had warned me that I wouldn't sleep much while taking the Adipex. This really concerned me because I envisioned walking around as a frustrated, sleep-deprived zombie. Well, it's true. I don't sleep much. BUT I'm not tired or prone to eating brains. And I'm not jittery like I'm amped up on something (at least not at this point). I've been staying up late this week, cleaning and organizing the house. The earliest I've gone to bed is midnight. Last night, it was 2:30. Yet every day I'm up by seven thirty, ready and raring to go. And if you know me, you KNOW that I LOVE sleeping as late as possible and I take FOREVER to get moving in the mornings. Even though I feel good now, though, I know this will catch up with me, so I'm going to have to start going to bed a little earlier and getting more than 4-5 hours of sleep. Maybe a benadryl to help me wind down.
Anywho, it's day three in Diet Land. Today's goal is to LOWER my carb intake and actually eat a few more calories since I have only been averaging between 850-900 and that's WAY too low. I tried to eat a Nutrigrain bar last night around midnight to get some extra fiber and a few more calories; I literally couldn't get it past my lips. Not only was I not hungry, I couldn't stand the thought of chewing. Again, if you know me, you KNOW that I LOVE to EAT!
We have company in town this weekend which means we'll eat out quite a bit. I want to enjoy myself, so I'll probably eat some "no no" foods, but I'm just considering this a vacation and we all know you eat whatever you want on vacation. It started tonight with us ordering pizza. We'd had a long day by the time we got back to Jackson and ordering out was more appealing that going out. By the time we got settled in and ordered, though, it was 9:00. By 9:30, my pill had worn off. Very quickly, I got woozy and shaky and HUNGRY. When the pizza got arrived around 9:45, I was in binge mode and ate three slices. Not good. I've been making a point to eat dinner early, so I know now that I MUST eat before the pill wears off.
At least I resisted a cheeseburger at Huey's today. Tough.
I'm sure this is terribly uninteresting, but putting this out for "public consumption" helps keep me accountable. Maybe I'll even get brave enough to tell you how much I weigh.
Who am I kidding? How about this, after I lose weight, I'll tell how much I started out at. It's embarrassing. What's MORE embarrassing, though, was the FAT content of my body. I actually cried a little.
Here's the daily breakdown:
BREAKFAST
Fiber One Oats and Apple bar and skim milk (3/4 cup)
196 calories
2 g. fat
39 g. carb (I know that's a lot, but a lot of it's fiber and there are quite a few in milk)
9 g. fiber (35% of what I need today!)
8 g. protein
LUNCH - Huey's (amounts will be approximate)
1 steak skewer; 10 steak fries; water
470 calories
18 g. fat
39 g. carbs
4 g. fiber
30 g. protein
DINNER (I don't EVEN want to know... sigh)
3 slices of deep dish cheese pizza (Dominos); 1 cup skim milk
871 calories (WHAT????)
36 grams of fat
76 g. carbs (this is getting worse and worse)
9 g. fiber
39 g. protein
TOTAL CALORIES: 1,537 (WAY over my max limit)
TOTAL FAT: 56 grams
TOTAL CARBS: 154 grams
TOTAL FIBER: 22 grams
TOTAL PROTEIN: 77 grams
Sooo... today was pretty much a disaster foodwise. Sadly, this is still CONSIDERABLY less than what I'd normally eat in a day. I'm beginning to understand how I gained so much weight so fast.
Anywho, it's day three in Diet Land. Today's goal is to LOWER my carb intake and actually eat a few more calories since I have only been averaging between 850-900 and that's WAY too low. I tried to eat a Nutrigrain bar last night around midnight to get some extra fiber and a few more calories; I literally couldn't get it past my lips. Not only was I not hungry, I couldn't stand the thought of chewing. Again, if you know me, you KNOW that I LOVE to EAT!
We have company in town this weekend which means we'll eat out quite a bit. I want to enjoy myself, so I'll probably eat some "no no" foods, but I'm just considering this a vacation and we all know you eat whatever you want on vacation. It started tonight with us ordering pizza. We'd had a long day by the time we got back to Jackson and ordering out was more appealing that going out. By the time we got settled in and ordered, though, it was 9:00. By 9:30, my pill had worn off. Very quickly, I got woozy and shaky and HUNGRY. When the pizza got arrived around 9:45, I was in binge mode and ate three slices. Not good. I've been making a point to eat dinner early, so I know now that I MUST eat before the pill wears off.
At least I resisted a cheeseburger at Huey's today. Tough.
I'm sure this is terribly uninteresting, but putting this out for "public consumption" helps keep me accountable. Maybe I'll even get brave enough to tell you how much I weigh.
Who am I kidding? How about this, after I lose weight, I'll tell how much I started out at. It's embarrassing. What's MORE embarrassing, though, was the FAT content of my body. I actually cried a little.
Here's the daily breakdown:
BREAKFAST
Fiber One Oats and Apple bar and skim milk (3/4 cup)
196 calories
2 g. fat
39 g. carb (I know that's a lot, but a lot of it's fiber and there are quite a few in milk)
9 g. fiber (35% of what I need today!)
8 g. protein
LUNCH - Huey's (amounts will be approximate)
1 steak skewer; 10 steak fries; water
470 calories
18 g. fat
39 g. carbs
4 g. fiber
30 g. protein
DINNER (I don't EVEN want to know... sigh)
3 slices of deep dish cheese pizza (Dominos); 1 cup skim milk
871 calories (WHAT????)
36 grams of fat
76 g. carbs (this is getting worse and worse)
9 g. fiber
39 g. protein
TOTAL CALORIES: 1,537 (WAY over my max limit)
TOTAL FAT: 56 grams
TOTAL CARBS: 154 grams
TOTAL FIBER: 22 grams
TOTAL PROTEIN: 77 grams
Sooo... today was pretty much a disaster foodwise. Sadly, this is still CONSIDERABLY less than what I'd normally eat in a day. I'm beginning to understand how I gained so much weight so fast.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Day Two - June 4
I hope to add to this throughout the day since it's hard to sit down and do it at the end of the day. I forget what I've had.
BREAKFAST
Low fat Fruit and Grain bar; protein water; 1 cup skim milk
280 calories
3 g. fat
39 g. carbs
2 g. fiber
26 g. protein
LUNCH
Chicken Harvest soup (1 cup); 1 roll; water with lemon (not the healthiest lunch but usually I'd eat 2-3 cups of the soup and 2-3 rolls... I'm doing better! I could have gotten grilled chicken but I've been eating grilled chicken every day)
310 calories
9 g. fat
43 g. carbs
2 g. fiber
11 g. protein
DINNER
Chicken Pesto "Sammie"
295 calories
14 g. fat
21 g. carbs
1 g. fiber
17 g. protein
(As of 7:00 PM)
TOTAL CALORIES: 885
TOTAL FAT: 26 grams
TOTAL CARBS: 103 grams
TOTAL FIBER: 5 grams
TOTAL PROTEIN: 54 grams
The "sammie" wasn't the best idea, but we have company cooking and I am NOT cleaning the kitchen up again before they get here. ha ha On a positive note, I usually eat 2 or 3 sammies. Tonight I had one.
BREAKFAST
Low fat Fruit and Grain bar; protein water; 1 cup skim milk
280 calories
3 g. fat
39 g. carbs
2 g. fiber
26 g. protein
LUNCH
Chicken Harvest soup (1 cup); 1 roll; water with lemon (not the healthiest lunch but usually I'd eat 2-3 cups of the soup and 2-3 rolls... I'm doing better! I could have gotten grilled chicken but I've been eating grilled chicken every day)
310 calories
9 g. fat
43 g. carbs
2 g. fiber
11 g. protein
DINNER
Chicken Pesto "Sammie"
295 calories
14 g. fat
21 g. carbs
1 g. fiber
17 g. protein
(As of 7:00 PM)
TOTAL CALORIES: 885
TOTAL FAT: 26 grams
TOTAL CARBS: 103 grams
TOTAL FIBER: 5 grams
TOTAL PROTEIN: 54 grams
The "sammie" wasn't the best idea, but we have company cooking and I am NOT cleaning the kitchen up again before they get here. ha ha On a positive note, I usually eat 2 or 3 sammies. Tonight I had one.
Day One
I'm going to try to keep an online food journal to hold myself more accountable. I'm not going to depend on the medicine to help me lose weight. I have to change my lifestyle or I'll never keep it off. I'm trying to eat healthy and use portion control, which is a HUGE problem for me. I don't really eat junk food, but there are some very fatty, unhealthy foods that I'm practically addicted to (namely bread and cheese)
Here's Day #1 (June 3)
Breakfast
Special K Fruit and Yogurt with skim milk; unsweet tea
271 calories
2 g. fat
39 g. carbs
1 g. fiber
Snack
Pineapple protein water
60 calories
0 g. fat
2 g carbs
15 g. protein
Lunch
Plain grilled chicken sandwich from Chickfila; water with lemon
260 calories
3 g. fat
7 g. fiber
33 g. carbs
27 g. protein
Snack
1/4 cup light yogurt
50 calories
0 g. fat
9 g. carbs
10 g. protein
Dinner
1 waffle with T. strawberry jam; unsweet tea
200 calories (approx.)
4 g. fat
25 g. carbs
1 g. fiber
3 g. protein
Snack
Popcicle
30 calories
0 g. fat
9 g. carbs
Here's Day #1 (June 3)
Breakfast
Special K Fruit and Yogurt with skim milk; unsweet tea
271 calories
2 g. fat
39 g. carbs
1 g. fiber
Snack
Pineapple protein water
60 calories
0 g. fat
2 g carbs
15 g. protein
Lunch
Plain grilled chicken sandwich from Chickfila; water with lemon
260 calories
3 g. fat
7 g. fiber
33 g. carbs
27 g. protein
Snack
1/4 cup light yogurt
50 calories
0 g. fat
9 g. carbs
10 g. protein
Dinner
1 waffle with T. strawberry jam; unsweet tea
200 calories (approx.)
4 g. fat
25 g. carbs
1 g. fiber
3 g. protein
Snack
Popcicle
30 calories
0 g. fat
9 g. carbs
TOTAL CALORIES: 871 (I know that's too low, but I have to be kind of extreme when I start my diet. )
TOTAL FAT: 9 grams (I'm pretty proud of this)
TOTAL CARBS: 117 grams (I need to bring this DOWN)
TOTAL FIBER - 9 grams (I need to bring this UP)
TOTAL PROTEIN - 55 grams (I need to bring this UP)
Okay, so not the healthiest day, but I'm working on. If you know me, you know that I do not eat a healthy, well-balanced diet. I have to start by cutting down the bad stuff and then I'll focus more on increasing stuff like fiber and protein.
If you have anything that might help, let me know!
Monday, June 1, 2009
Two A.M. and I'm still awake writing a blog...
So here it is, after 2 A.M. on a Monday morning. I've had two cups of something called "sleepytime" tea as well as a tiny little pill I affectionately call the "dream killer," a term that should not be considered disparaging in the least bit since my dreams are not often happy places. I know that as soon as I lie down that my raw, swollen infected bottom lip will go all into 1992 "rave mode" and pulse like a straining speaker blaring a bad German techno song. I'm trying to keep my eyes open and stay busy until I'm completely zombiefied and fit for crawling in bed.
Needless to say, THIS will be a rambling mess. But it will be a TRUE mess...that rambles.
It's been WELL over a month since I posted anything on here. It's not that I'm ignoring it, it's just that everything I've been inclined to write has been a bit more personal than what I intend to share on here. I never intended this to be a "personal" blog where I talk about my own life, and those things I do share are generally public knowledge. Then I read blog entries like this or this or this and I feel like total chickenshit for being scared for the few of you to read something personal. God in heaven knows that in the deserts of life we call pain that I have a speck of dust compared to what these men are facing. Hell, I'm not even hurting. Just scared and disappointed with myself.
(May I just say that I'm having an EXTREMELY difficult time typing? Not much longer now...)
What do I have to lose to be honest? Maybe someone will have an answer for me. Maybe someone will read this who is experiencing the same feelings. I think there's only three of you anyway, so if worse comes to worse, a handful of you know a little too much about me.
Let's establish some background for those of you who may only know me through this blog:
1. There was a point in time when I swore I wouldn't get married (there's an entire different set of background that goes with that)
2. When I met the man who would become my husband, I retracted said swear and told him--on our third date--that I was going to marry him.
3. We married about six months later.
4. This September will be our eight month anniversary.
While this undoubtedly prompts some of you to the obligatory "Awww," let me tell you something: marriage is hard. Really hard. Even under the best circumstances with the person you KNOW God placed in this world just for you, it's hard.
It's hard to share space with anyone for long periods of time.
It's hard to accept each other's flaws and shortcomings, especially after the initial dating/honeymoon stage wears off (in our case, those were almost synonymous)
It's hard to stay when our society makes it so damned easy to go.
It's hard to never have another first date, first kiss, first [fill in the blank]
It's hard to forgive. It's hard to forget.
Marriage. Is. Hard.
We haven't even reached the ten year mark and already I understand why so many marriages end in divorce, why so many spouses are unfaithful, why women become bitter and women become withdrawn.
Hold on.... need to go back and read all of that.
Jeez... you probably think I'm married to a total asshat. Not true. I'm totally completely in love with my husband. He's handsome, intelligent, funny, compassionate, kind, forgiving. The good in him far outweighs any bad. When it all boils down to the truth, I have been at the root of most of our marital problems. I'm impulsive, moody, and insecure. I make things so much harder than they have to be most of the time. My husband will have a special room in his heavenly mansion someday for all he's loved me through and forgiven me for (I hope it's a home theater--he really wants one). On our best days, it's bliss. On our worst days, it's a struggle. And we've had our share of "worst days." But my worst day with him is infinitely better than my best day without him.
I say all of this to get to my point (which I must hurriedly approach since I can now only hold one eye open)--I'm afraid I've waited too long to really love him. No, I've waited too long to try to show him I really love him.
See, for a long time, he had to share part of my heart, a part of my heart that I claimed someone else had taken but in all honesty I let this person have it and never asked for it back. During times when I should have been pulling back my shoulders and facing any problems in my relationship with my husband head on, I was using someone else as my emotional crutch. I lied about my crutch. I was deceptive in many ways. This went on for so long that I didn't realize how destructive it was until I woke up one day unsure that my marriage was going to survive. I made the decision to let go of my crutch and truly cleave to my husband as God intended.
To use a well-worn metaphor, the road since then has had its share of bumps, but we've managed to travel it together. We are finally communicating in an honest and in my opinion healthy way. I am happier than I've ever been and I love my husband more than I ever have before. I can't sit beside him without holding his hand or leaning on his shoulder or tracing my fingertip across his shoulder blade. When he pulls into our drive, my stomach does flip flops. Being away from him, even for a few hours... well, sucks. And while he seems relatively happy and I don't doubt that he loves me, it has become my fear that my actions in the past have rendered him unable to feel the same for me as I do for him. I don't think he feels electricity when we touch. And while I consider him my best friend, sometimes I feel this is as deep as the attraction goes for him now.
Please don't misconstrue any of this as bitching about my husband. I am so thankful for the progress we've made and the relationship we have now. He is my greatest earthly blessing. But I fear I've driven away the part of him that at one time craved me, that wanted me. Do I deserve his total trust and admiration again? I doubt it. But I'm willing to do anything to get it back, to have him look at me like he used to. At the same time, though, I have to question if it is my right to have that back.
I used to mock people whom I labeled as "too needy," the ones who couldn't exist without the one they loved so much. And now here I am finding myself not just wanting him, but needing him more and more. And while he's HERE for me and with me, there's a piece missing.
Regardless, I will not EVER give up. I will dig down every day and find away to love him even deeper. I will be proud to be his wife and I will cherish every "I love you," every brush of the lips and embrace.
I love you, John. I'm so sorry for the times I've failed you as a wife. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you even though you don't ask that of me. I want you to believe and never doubt my devotion to you and only you.
I'm going to sleep now. I'll read this with new eyes in the morning. It will probably be hard but I won't regret it.
Needless to say, THIS will be a rambling mess. But it will be a TRUE mess...that rambles.
It's been WELL over a month since I posted anything on here. It's not that I'm ignoring it, it's just that everything I've been inclined to write has been a bit more personal than what I intend to share on here. I never intended this to be a "personal" blog where I talk about my own life, and those things I do share are generally public knowledge. Then I read blog entries like this or this or this and I feel like total chickenshit for being scared for the few of you to read something personal. God in heaven knows that in the deserts of life we call pain that I have a speck of dust compared to what these men are facing. Hell, I'm not even hurting. Just scared and disappointed with myself.
(May I just say that I'm having an EXTREMELY difficult time typing? Not much longer now...)
What do I have to lose to be honest? Maybe someone will have an answer for me. Maybe someone will read this who is experiencing the same feelings. I think there's only three of you anyway, so if worse comes to worse, a handful of you know a little too much about me.
Let's establish some background for those of you who may only know me through this blog:
1. There was a point in time when I swore I wouldn't get married (there's an entire different set of background that goes with that)
2. When I met the man who would become my husband, I retracted said swear and told him--on our third date--that I was going to marry him.
3. We married about six months later.
4. This September will be our eight month anniversary.
While this undoubtedly prompts some of you to the obligatory "Awww," let me tell you something: marriage is hard. Really hard. Even under the best circumstances with the person you KNOW God placed in this world just for you, it's hard.
It's hard to share space with anyone for long periods of time.
It's hard to accept each other's flaws and shortcomings, especially after the initial dating/honeymoon stage wears off (in our case, those were almost synonymous)
It's hard to stay when our society makes it so damned easy to go.
It's hard to never have another first date, first kiss, first [fill in the blank]
It's hard to forgive. It's hard to forget.
Marriage. Is. Hard.
We haven't even reached the ten year mark and already I understand why so many marriages end in divorce, why so many spouses are unfaithful, why women become bitter and women become withdrawn.
Hold on.... need to go back and read all of that.
Jeez... you probably think I'm married to a total asshat. Not true. I'm totally completely in love with my husband. He's handsome, intelligent, funny, compassionate, kind, forgiving. The good in him far outweighs any bad. When it all boils down to the truth, I have been at the root of most of our marital problems. I'm impulsive, moody, and insecure. I make things so much harder than they have to be most of the time. My husband will have a special room in his heavenly mansion someday for all he's loved me through and forgiven me for (I hope it's a home theater--he really wants one). On our best days, it's bliss. On our worst days, it's a struggle. And we've had our share of "worst days." But my worst day with him is infinitely better than my best day without him.
I say all of this to get to my point (which I must hurriedly approach since I can now only hold one eye open)--I'm afraid I've waited too long to really love him. No, I've waited too long to try to show him I really love him.
See, for a long time, he had to share part of my heart, a part of my heart that I claimed someone else had taken but in all honesty I let this person have it and never asked for it back. During times when I should have been pulling back my shoulders and facing any problems in my relationship with my husband head on, I was using someone else as my emotional crutch. I lied about my crutch. I was deceptive in many ways. This went on for so long that I didn't realize how destructive it was until I woke up one day unsure that my marriage was going to survive. I made the decision to let go of my crutch and truly cleave to my husband as God intended.
To use a well-worn metaphor, the road since then has had its share of bumps, but we've managed to travel it together. We are finally communicating in an honest and in my opinion healthy way. I am happier than I've ever been and I love my husband more than I ever have before. I can't sit beside him without holding his hand or leaning on his shoulder or tracing my fingertip across his shoulder blade. When he pulls into our drive, my stomach does flip flops. Being away from him, even for a few hours... well, sucks. And while he seems relatively happy and I don't doubt that he loves me, it has become my fear that my actions in the past have rendered him unable to feel the same for me as I do for him. I don't think he feels electricity when we touch. And while I consider him my best friend, sometimes I feel this is as deep as the attraction goes for him now.
Please don't misconstrue any of this as bitching about my husband. I am so thankful for the progress we've made and the relationship we have now. He is my greatest earthly blessing. But I fear I've driven away the part of him that at one time craved me, that wanted me. Do I deserve his total trust and admiration again? I doubt it. But I'm willing to do anything to get it back, to have him look at me like he used to. At the same time, though, I have to question if it is my right to have that back.
I used to mock people whom I labeled as "too needy," the ones who couldn't exist without the one they loved so much. And now here I am finding myself not just wanting him, but needing him more and more. And while he's HERE for me and with me, there's a piece missing.
Regardless, I will not EVER give up. I will dig down every day and find away to love him even deeper. I will be proud to be his wife and I will cherish every "I love you," every brush of the lips and embrace.
I love you, John. I'm so sorry for the times I've failed you as a wife. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you even though you don't ask that of me. I want you to believe and never doubt my devotion to you and only you.
I'm going to sleep now. I'll read this with new eyes in the morning. It will probably be hard but I won't regret it.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Teabagging
Okay, okay, okay... I'm NOT posting this for any political reasons whatsoever. I'm posting this to make myself feel better for giggling and supressing sophomoric jokes everytime I hear someone in the media (or the grocery store for that matter) mention "teabag."
I heart you Anderson Cooper, even though you would never heart me back. hee hee
Wait around for the funniness...
I heart you Anderson Cooper, even though you would never heart me back. hee hee
Wait around for the funniness...
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Blah, blah, blahbitty, blah
I have no idea what to write. All of my creativity as of late has been poured into making my students' End of Course exam review fun and interesting. I don't have the time or energy to work on a story and haven't felt like reading up on anything interesting in the news.
Any suggestions???
Any suggestions???
Friday, March 20, 2009
The Face of Evil
A new mugshot of Charles Manson has been released. Gone is the wild-eyed stare from his earliest pictures, replaced by the vacant eyes of an old, empty man. As much as his early mugshot creeps me out, I must say I'm bothered more by the recent one. He looks like a man without a soul... and perhaps he is.
I pity Manson. Not because of the picture, but because of where I know he will spend eternity. I'm sure most feel that is where he deserves to be and perhaps he does. I'm not God. But at one point, he was a child and I just can't believe he was always evil. Who knows what pushed him into the life he chose. Lots of people have childhoods as traumatic or even more so than his, and they don't all become homicidal maniacs with a cult following.
As horrific as the Tate-LaBianca murders were (and the quasi-circus aftermath of the trial), I'm not quite sure why Manson is so notorious. Now don't get me wrong. I think he totally deserves to rot in jail for what he did and I am in NO WAY defending him. I'm just trying to figure out how he someone became our country's embodiment of evil. To my knowledge, he was never actually convicted of personally killing anyone. Maybe it's because he so easily influenced and controlled people that sealed his legal fate. I'm not sure who would scare me more: a killer or someone who can have me killed and convince the murderer to take the fall for him. The power he exerted over his followers is unsettling at the least. But he's not the most brutal killer in our country's history. There are serial killers with a much higher body count and those who not only murdered but dismembered or even ate their victims.
There are also people who are just as dangerous as he was as far as influencing people to commit acts of violence. Last night I was watching a documentary on white supremacists and neo-Nazis in America. Some of the things these people discuss--on radio, the Internet, in print--is no less crazy or hate-filled or dangerous as Manson's "philosophy." Manson believed a race war was imminent and that the blacks would rise up against the whites and kill them all. He believed he and his followers would survive and would rise up to rule the country since the blacks would not know how (on a side note, Manson believed he and the Beatles would constitute the 5 Jesuses... nuts). This may all sound like insanity, but some of it is not much different that the propaganda spread by today's white supremacists. People like former KKK-member Tom Metzger are just as much of a threat as Manson was. Metzger encourages "lone wolf" supremacists to assimilate into society and even pretend not to be racist so that they don't draw attention to themselves. Specific guidelines for these individuals or small cells include, "Act alone and leave no evidence; do not commit robbery to obtain operating funds; act silently and anonymously; do not deface your body with identifiable tattoos; understand that you are expendable; and whatever happens, do not grovel. If our race is going to die, at least let us die with dignity!"
Manson and his followers have been denied parole continually over the years, as they should have been; however, others who have committed crimes as bad or even worse than theirs have walked free. What exactly pushed the Manson "family" onto a different level? Why aren't other criminals also denied parole? Are the feelings of the Tate family somehow more important because she was famous? And why are so many people walking free who have undoubtedly incited acts of hate and violence with their own words? Seriously, watch some of the docs on History and National Geographic about the white "power" movement in our country. It will scare the hell out of you.
Okay, rambled enough. Gonna go find something happy to read about now.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
The Wife of a Noble Character (What I Wish I Could Be)
A wife of noble character who can find?
She is worth far more than rubies.
Noble –admirable; possessing outstanding qualities; possessing, characterized by, or arising from superiority of mind or character or of ideals or morals; of high or exalted rank
Women like this are rare, especially in our society today. A woman who is noble, who is of high morals and character, is priceless. Men may be attracted to outwardly beautiful women, but life will be long and difficult if there is no inward beauty.
Whether you’re a wife or not, these are all attributes we should strive to have in our lives.
Here are the traits of a wife or woman of noble character:
Her husband has full confidence in her
and lacks nothing of value.
A noble woman is trustworthy. She will conduct herself in the same way, regardless of whether or not she has an audience. She can be trusted to make wise decisions, to be honest, to keep secrets. In a marriage, her husband knows he does not have to keep tabs on her whereabouts, her spending or her friendships. He can rely on her in both the good times and bad times and can be confident that she will strive to make the best decisions for their household.
She brings him good, not harm,
all the days of her life.
A noble woman wishes to see those she loves healthy and happy. She will avoid actions that could harm the people she cares about. A noble wife upholds her family name. She does not do things that could hurt her or her husband’s reputation. She does not want to be an embarrassment. A noble woman and wife does not talk unfavorably about her loved ones. She doesn’t want to lower others’ opinions of her family. She brings respect and dignity to her family.
She selects wool and flax
and works with eager hands.
She is like the merchant ships,
bringing her food from afar.
She gets up while it is still dark;
she provides food for her family
and portions for her servant girls.
She considers a field and buys it;
out of her earnings she plants a vineyard.
She sets about her work vigorously;
her arms are strong for her tasks.
She sees that her trading is profitable,
and her lamp does not go out at night.
In her hand she holds the distaff
and grasps the spindle with her fingers.
A noble woman works hard and works smart. Though women today don’t have to “select wool and flax” and make their own clothes, a noble woman shops smart She shows good judgment in her purchases. A noble wife does not waste her resources. She shops for bargains on clothes, food and household items. She is not wasteful. And while we don’t have to necessarily “get up while it’s still dark,” a noble woman is not lazy. She fulfills her household responsibilities to her best ability. The “noble wife” prepares (or acquires) food for her family and keeps her family healthy.
Being a woman—especially if you’re a wife/mother—is a full-time job. It doesn’t often seem fair that we work all day and into the night, but God has equipped us to do this. Though men may be physically stronger, women seem to be able to handle burdens more adequately, especially the burdens of her family.
She opens her arms to the poor
and extends her hands to the needy.
A noble woman is generous and compassionate. She doesn’t just give money; she gives of herself. S he gives her time and her heart. For women with children, this is a beautiful example to pass on. Children learn from their parents’ actions; demonstrate charity and kindness.
When it snows, she has no fear for her household;
for all of them are clothed in scarlet.
A noble woman plans ahead. She doesn’t focus on what she wants to do, but what she needs to do. She plans for the future, not just tomorrow. Her family is ready for almost any situation. She makes sure that they are prepared for even the hardest times.
She makes coverings for her bed;
she is clothed in fine linen and purple.
A noble woman takes pride in her appearance. This doesn’t mean she’s vain or that she spends all of her money on clothes, hair and jewelry. Even if her clothes are not of the finest quality, she will make sure they are clean and presentable. She will take care of her body and appearance.
She will also take care of her home and take pride in her surroundings. She will make it a place of rest and comfort for herself and her family.
Her husband is respected at the city gate,
where he takes his seat among the elders of the land.
A noble woman brings respect to her husband. People are influenced and often based on the company they keep. A man with a noble wife (as opposed to just a pretty wife or even a smart wife) displays wisdom in his choice.
She makes linen garments and sells them,
and supplies the merchants with sashes.
A noble woman uses her talents, whether she receives monetary compensation or glory in heaven later on. Whether it’s working with your hands or working in the church, each noble woman has her own God-given talent.
She is clothed with strength and dignity;
she can laugh at the days to come.
A noble woman may feel weak, but her spirit is strong. She does not bring shame or disgrace on herself or her family. She is a role model for her children and for other women.
A noble woman has joy. She may be stressed and frustrated, but she does not let worry overtake her life. She dwells in her joy and blessings and strives to find happiness in every situation.
She speaks with wisdom,
and faithful instruction is on her tongue.
Noble women are often sought out for their advice. They do not speak from sheer emotion but from wisdom. They keep the best interests of others in mind and do not offer advice based on personal gain or desires.
A noble woman is constantly instructing her children in how to become noble. She takes every opportunity to impart wisdom on them and constantly searches for “teachable moments.”
She watches over the affairs of her household
and does not eat the bread of idleness.
A noble woman accepts that she cannot be lazy. She may not get everything done on time, but it won’t be due to idleness. She is actively and healthily involved in the lives of her family.
Her children arise and call her blessed;
her husband also, and he praises her:
"Many women do noble things,
but you surpass them all."
A noble woman is appreciated. Her joy and morals will rub off on those around her. Noble women might not always receive the praise they deserve, but their family and friends do notice their hard work. Noble women are sometimes taken advantage of but are always loved. They are a blessing to everyone who meets them. The family of a noble woman sees THEIR mother/wife as the best, even if they’re too proud or embarrassed to admit it.
Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised.
Give her the reward she has earned,
and let her works bring her praise at the city gate
It all comes down to this: a woman who fears the Lord and loves her God IS a noble woman. She WILL be praised. A woman who “gets by” on her charms or feminine wiles lacks character. Beauty does not last forever. The only things that time does not take away from us are our character and our faith. If a man falls in love with your inside beauty, if he cherishes you because you are a noble woman, you don’t have to worry about losing what attracted him to you. You don’t have to put on a show or spend all of your time “primping.”
A noble woman will be rewarded. Perhaps she will not receive her reward in this life, but she will in the next. And whether she realizes it or not, her good attitude and good works are an influence of everyone she encounters.
As women, we are often overwhelmed on a daily basis. It’s easy to read Proverbs 31 and think, “There’s no way I can do or be all of that!” Just as God doesn’t expect us to be perfect, we aren’t expected to be perfect wives, mothers, or women. This should be a list of characteristics for us to work toward, though. Honor God with your life; seek His help in both your best and worst times. It is only with Him that any of this can be accomplished.
The leaders of tomorrow???
These are actual letters found in my class. All spelling, capitalization and slang has been preserved with the exception of the backward e's that look like 3's.. I have cleaned up some of the "stronger" language. Read at your own RISK!
Letter #1 (between two young "ladies")
did you hear me?
some of it
well i said i saw (name withheld) n da hallway and he said i need to get mii voice bk n i said you did it he said how n i was like you made me holla all nit while we was f*****' n he said yea I knw n went n da br.
hell naw! yall crazy!
ova his d*** n he crazy ova mi p**** lol
hell naw! freak ass! yall must still go together or HK?
hope its like he free to HK to who eva n i'm free to HK to who eva but we can still f*** n go out like partners or friends with access
eww yall b havin sex? omg
so you white now? lol but omg his ykw (you know what)ugh itz omg!! :D
omg i cant believe dis s*** like yu is so bad!
he bad to its not only me but I like it alot lol
Letter #2: (Pre-election letter found in a book recently; written between two guys
If you want to fite me then keep on!
I just want to be friends b****
What you call me?
Nuthin
I just want to be friends an dstop being mean and I just want peace
Do you know how to say Obama in Chineas?
No do you
Yes its Cone Sonn Die.
Why you say that and Obama is a better man than McCain.
No he aint and That how you say Obama in Chineas.
If Obama do good these four years will you give credit to him.
NO
I will not give McCain credit either because he is a bad and he is a hater.
A hater?
He hate our kind.
No he don't he fought in a war for us
Obama has a better plan than McCain which allow us to do and acommplish more things for people like me and you.
He bannded the guns. MY GUNS EVERYONE'S GUNS! trader
OK but Obama will help the econmie but McCain will help the war but first its change the country
Obama sucks the South's balls!
Why you do that???
Letter #1 (between two young "ladies")
did you hear me?
some of it
well i said i saw (name withheld) n da hallway and he said i need to get mii voice bk n i said you did it he said how n i was like you made me holla all nit while we was f*****' n he said yea I knw n went n da br.
hell naw! yall crazy!
ova his d*** n he crazy ova mi p**** lol
hell naw! freak ass! yall must still go together or HK?
hope its like he free to HK to who eva n i'm free to HK to who eva but we can still f*** n go out like partners or friends with access
eww yall b havin sex? omg
so you white now? lol but omg his ykw (you know what)ugh itz omg!! :D
omg i cant believe dis s*** like yu is so bad!
he bad to its not only me but I like it alot lol
Letter #2: (Pre-election letter found in a book recently; written between two guys
If you want to fite me then keep on!
I just want to be friends b****
What you call me?
Nuthin
I just want to be friends an dstop being mean and I just want peace
Do you know how to say Obama in Chineas?
No do you
Yes its Cone Sonn Die.
Why you say that and Obama is a better man than McCain.
No he aint and That how you say Obama in Chineas.
If Obama do good these four years will you give credit to him.
NO
I will not give McCain credit either because he is a bad and he is a hater.
A hater?
He hate our kind.
No he don't he fought in a war for us
Obama has a better plan than McCain which allow us to do and acommplish more things for people like me and you.
He bannded the guns. MY GUNS EVERYONE'S GUNS! trader
OK but Obama will help the econmie but McCain will help the war but first its change the country
Obama sucks the South's balls!
Why you do that???
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Dragons and Machine Guns and Brothels, OH MY!
FROM Entertainment Weekly Online...
Amanda Seyfried is in talks to star in Zack Snyder's upcoming all-girl ass-kicker Sucker Punch. Sucker Punch, which has been in the works for about two years, sounds like kind of a mindfrak. It follows Babydoll (Seyfried) as her stepfather sends her to a mental institution to be lobotomized. "While there, she imagines an alternative reality to hide her from the pain, and in that world, she begins planning her escape, needing to steal five objects to help get her out before she is deflowered by a vile man," according to the Hollywood Reporter. "Snyder...has described the fantasy world as 'Alice in Wonderland with machine guns,' blending such elements as dragons, B-52 bombers, and brothels." Seyfried's supporting cast could include Vanessa Hudgens, Abbie Cornish, Evan Rachel Wood, and Emma Stone.
Snyder, who directed 300 and this week's Watchmen, is creating what may be the coolest movie EVER! I'm a sucker for crazy sci-fi/fantasy/alternate universe stuff and the cast (with the exception of Cornish and Hudgens) is fantastic. Seyfried is my 2nd favorite person on <em>Big Love (right after crazy Nicolette.) Evan Rachel Wood completely won me over in Across the Universe and almost made me forget she used to date Marilyn Manson. And Emma Stone is definitely an up-and-coming girl to watch. As funny as the boys were in Superbad, Stone's was the brightest spot in the movie.
I can't WAIT for the trailer to come out for this. As if I weren't salivating enough over Watchmen.
Amanda Seyfried is in talks to star in Zack Snyder's upcoming all-girl ass-kicker Sucker Punch. Sucker Punch, which has been in the works for about two years, sounds like kind of a mindfrak. It follows Babydoll (Seyfried) as her stepfather sends her to a mental institution to be lobotomized. "While there, she imagines an alternative reality to hide her from the pain, and in that world, she begins planning her escape, needing to steal five objects to help get her out before she is deflowered by a vile man," according to the Hollywood Reporter. "Snyder...has described the fantasy world as 'Alice in Wonderland with machine guns,' blending such elements as dragons, B-52 bombers, and brothels." Seyfried's supporting cast could include Vanessa Hudgens, Abbie Cornish, Evan Rachel Wood, and Emma Stone.
Snyder, who directed 300 and this week's Watchmen, is creating what may be the coolest movie EVER! I'm a sucker for crazy sci-fi/fantasy/alternate universe stuff and the cast (with the exception of Cornish and Hudgens) is fantastic. Seyfried is my 2nd favorite person on <em>Big Love (right after crazy Nicolette.) Evan Rachel Wood completely won me over in Across the Universe and almost made me forget she used to date Marilyn Manson. And Emma Stone is definitely an up-and-coming girl to watch. As funny as the boys were in Superbad, Stone's was the brightest spot in the movie.
I can't WAIT for the trailer to come out for this. As if I weren't salivating enough over Watchmen.
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